It Could be You
by Cherielynn
Summary: When Sherlock stops into Speedy's Cafe for coffee one morning, he meets a handsome young barista named Carter. John Watson has always been attracted to Sherlock but never thought the detective could return his feelings. When he sees Sherlock falling for another man he decides to fight for the detective.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock entered Speedy's Deli and immediately scanned the small café out of habit. He took in the quaint wooden chairs, the signs on the walls displaying today's specials and the counter near the door filled with sandwiches, cakes, energy drinks and his favorite blueberry muffins. He was the only customer. The woman who usually worked behind the counter, Jenny or Jinny he couldn't be bothered to remember, did not putter behind the counter this morning. Instead, a fair-haired, young man in his late twenties greeted him with a smile.

"Good morning," the man said cheerily, and Sherlock was about to respond as he always did with a noncommittal grunt but did something very uncharacteristic instead. He said "Good morning," back to the fellow.

"What'll you have?" the young man asked, and Sherlock noted his urban London accent, clean cut hair, white, even teeth and tanned skin without even realizing it.

"Coffee, black, two sugars," he muttered and took another look at the barista in front of him. He noted the name badge that said "Carter" on it and let his eyes skitter over the fellow's broad shoulders, well-defined arms, and a tight abdomen. The man certainly kept fit, possibly a stint in the military but more likely something closer to home like police or firefighter. He didn't have the military mannerisms most soldiers had.

"Right-O," he responded giving Sherlock a cheeky wink. "Can I interest you in anything else?"

Sherlock blushed and wondered if he'd been caught looking. "Uh," he uttered and wondered at his inability to articulate a simple breakfast order. "Blueberry muffin," he said. He hadn't intended on ordering one, but he'd just been thinking about how good they smelled that morning. Eating was usually such a chore, but the words just slipped out.

Carter smiled again, "Baked fresh this morning. I've already had one," he said and pulled out tongs and a plate. "For here I assume?" he asked.

Sherlock rarely ever sat at the tables. Unless he was with John, he always took his coffee in a paper cup to go. Again to his astonishment, he heard himself say, "Yes." Today he felt like lingering over his coffee, eating a delicious blueberry muffin and getting a better look at …

"Here you are Mr. Holmes," Carter said handing him a ceramic cup and saucer full of coffee.

"If you find a table, I'll bring this over to so you don't have to carry both," he said, and Sherlock made his way over to a table opposite the counter. Carter followed with his muffin and placed it on the table next to Sherlock's coffee.

"Thank you, Carter," he said liking the surprised look in the man's eyes when he used his name. "You know my name; It's only fair that I know yours as well."

Carter laughed then and said, "Jenny pointed you out to me yesterday when you walked by with Dr. Watson. You're both local celebrities round here."

"Firefighter or Policeman?" Sherlock asked.

Carter looked surprised for only a moment then smiled at the question, "Volunteer firefighter for now. But, I hope to get a place in a station as soon as I finish my training. I do this to help pay the bills," he said waving a hand around the café. "I spend a lot of free time studying and training."

As he lifted his arm to gesture, Sherlock couldn't help but notice the rippling muscle under Carter's polo shirt. A wave of lust hit him at the sight, and it startled him. The man was almost ten years younger than he was, a mere boy. Besides, John would tell him he was a fool for even hoping a man as attractive as Carter would ever think of him in that way. Not that John's attempts at dating had been overly successful lately. But, Sherlock's powers of observation aside, he had a sense there was a mutual attraction.

"You figured that out just by looking at me?" Carter asked with open admiration in his face. "They said you could do that." So far only John Watson had ever produced that satisfied glow in his chest when he performed his deductions. Interesting.

Sherlock nodded and picked up his cup and took a sip. Perfect "Mmmm," he said. "You know how to make a good cuppa," Sherlock said and thought furiously, I'm complimenting him, and making ridiculous small talk. I never do that.

The door opened, and two more customers came in. "I'll leave you to it then, Mr. Holmes."

"Call me Sherlock, please," Sherlock said and winced inwardly. Good god, he sounded like a schoolboy with a crush.

"Okay, Sherlock," Carter said and left to tend the new customers.

Sherlock watched him go pinching off bites of the muffin and absently putting them in his mouth. Carter genially greeted the two women the same way he'd greeted Sherlock earlier, and he felt a pang of jealousy run through him at the sight. So, maybe he treated everyone in such a fashion. But, as he handed over the two sandwiches and drinks to the women, he turned his head and caught Sherlock's watching him. He winked and Sherlock nearly dropped his coffee cup. He ducked his head and took a big gulp to hide the flush he knew had spread over his cheeks and took too much in at once. The liquid burned its way down his gullet too warm, and he had to sit still and wonder if he'd done himself permanent damage. When the fiery pain finally subsided, he looked up to find Carter's concerned face hovering over him.

"You alright, Mate?" he asked placing a hand casually on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Yes," he nodded finally getting himself under control. What was wrong with him? He wondered. How had he found himself sitting in a cafe sipping coffee, swallowing wrong and mooning over some lovely young man? It was unconscionable.

"Fine! Thanks for the muffin," he said trying his best to avoid the Carter's earnest face and reaching in his pocket for some money. He left ten pounds on the table, far more than was necessary to pay for the food. "I've got to go. Case," he managed to say while standing up. His half-eaten muffin littered his plate.

"Just a sec," Carter said and dashed around behind the counter. He placed another muffin in a paper bag and brought it round. "For the road," he said and handed it over.

Sherlock took the offered bag and left the shop as fast as he could. It was quite possible that he'd never be able to bring himself to set foot in the place again after that display. His phone pinged, and he received a text. It was from Lestrade.

Expected you here already. Where are you?

On my way. SH

Hurry up! We can't hold the crime scene much longer.

Be there in 30. SH

Make it 20. John's already here.

Sherlock pocketed his phone and tucked the bag with the muffin into his coat pocket. Maybe he could make it up to Lestrade by giving him a baked treat. He hailed a cab and gave the driver the directions.


	2. Chapter 2

When he got to the scene, Lestrade pounced on him. "We've been waiting almost an hour. You know, Sherlock, I stick my neck out for you two in these investigations. My team's been milling around waiting for you. Thankfully John's been here poking about. He's trying to look at things, but honestly, he doesn't do what you do, does he?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the Detective Inspector. "He's learned a great deal, Lestrade. He'll probably tell me everything he's managed to observe."

"Where were you anyway? John said you were stopping in for a coffee and would be here any minute."

"I got distracted," Sherlock began. Something inside him wanted to confess he'd been sideswiped by a ridiculous fascination for another person. A romantic fascination at that! But, he couldn't bring himself to say the words out loud. Perhaps he'd never be able to say them.

Lestrade watched him a moment with an odd expression on his face. "See what you can make of the scene, would you?"

"What has the Yard discovered?" Sherlock asked trying not to let the contempt he felt for Lestrade's team leak into his voice.

"We found a white female, 31, lying in an alley near a skip. We've identified her as Alexandria Medford. She'd just come out of a nearby shop where she'd just purchased almost 500 pounds worth of stuff; it was the salesperson who identified her. She'd been carrying an armload of bags. She comes from a wealthy family near Sussex. As far as we can tell, she was shopping along this street when she was robbed and murdered in broad daylight. However, no one has seen a thing and this alley is one of the few blind spots in London. No CCTV. And, no murder weapon. I'd like to get anything you have."

Sherlock nodded and left him to walk over to the taped off area. A woman's body lay stretched on her side near a skip in an alley. The buildings nearby were primarily upscale businesses. The woman was attractive and dressed in expensive clothes, covered with a designer coat. She was, however, missing her shoes. Her bare feet sported an expensive pedicure. She looked as if she had fallen face first then tried to roll over a bit. Her head had been bashed in with a heavy, blunt object and a pool of blood had collected under her neck and shoulders. The contents of her handbag lay near her outstretched hand. It looked as if the assailant had simply upturned the bag and let the items spill everywhere. Sherlock noted several prescription pill bottles among the cosmetics, wadded up tissues and loose change.

The detective approached the body stepping carefully. John stood a few feet away in the ubiquitous, blue protective gear Lestrade forced his team to wear. He took a moment to watch the doctor as he approached him. His partner and best friend looked over his shoulder as he approached and smiled. His face radiated relief at Sherlock's arrival. Sherlock felt a pang. He hadn't meant to make him wait so long.

"Where've you been?" John asked. "I've been standing here looking like an idiot for the better part of an hour."

"Sorry," Sherlock said. "I got held up." What was wrong with him today. First, young Carter got under his skin, and now he'd cared about John's feelings than the perfectly good crime right in front of him. He wondered briefly if he were growing a brain tumor.

"Held up?" John asked. "What held you up?"

Sherlock found he couldn't answer. He hadn't been held up by anything tangible, simply a desire, and didn't think he could explain himself anyway. He sighed and looked at his feet. How could he convey to his mostly straight flat mate about the little jitter of pleasure he felt thinking about Carter's saucy wink?

John watched him a moment letting the puzzlement at Sherlock's silence show on his face. "What do you think of this, then?" he asked finally.

"Tell me, Doctor," he said already knowing what John would say, "What kind of condition those prescriptions treat?"

"From what I could see, she's got three different types of seizure-controlling meds. Going by the types and dosages, she had severe epilepsy. We can't know for sure without looking at her medical records…"

"Solved it," Sherlock said.

"What?" John said gaping at him. "You solved it? Sherlock, are you sure."

"Of course, I'm sure," Sherlock said as he scanned the scene again noting the woman's house keys sported a Chanel symbol. The backward-forward "C" unmistakable.

Sherlock waved Lestrade over. "You're looking for a couple of teenagers or young adults in their early twenties. The victim came out of this store carrying an armload of very expensive items in bags. She probably had a grand mal seizure and fell here near this skip. She'd have been incapacitated for some minutes."

Lestrade looked at John for confirmation. "It's possible," John said shrugging. Her meds indicate she had epilepsy."

"She fell here, and a pair of teens happened to be passing by at the time. Most likely a boy and a girl. But, instead of helping her, they noticed her expensive gear and began helping themselves to her handbag, her shoes, and her shopping. Going by the amount of money she spent on her outfit, and her Chanel keyring, I'm sure her handbag and shoes would have fetched a couple of thousand pounds on the secondary market."

Lestrade shook his head and rubbed a callused hand through his hair. "How do you figure about the skateboard?"

"Here," Sherlock pointed at two track marks on the pavement near the skip. "These are fresh, only a few hours old. The boy had been riding it down the sidewalk and turned into the alley when he saw your victim lying near the skip. It rained last night so marks like these wouldn't have lasted long. Only" here Sherlock hesitated.

"Only what, Sherlock" John prompted.

Sherlock shook himself and continued. He turned to John as he said, "Her seizure didn't last long. She began recovering and tried to push herself up onto her feet. I believe one of them panicked, picked up the skateboard and hit her over the head to knock her out. Only they hit her too hard."

"Incredible," John said. "How do you know there were two?"

"Educated guess. The teenaged girl would have been more likely to have known the value of the woman's shoes and handbag. The boy would have been riding the skateboard, and most likely had the strength to hit the woman hard enough to kill her. I believe this is a crime of convenience, and I don't think this pair would have attacked the woman had she not been venerable and seizing."

"If that's true," Lestrade said with a look of both amazement and horror on his face. "I can't wait to haul this pair in. This is a new low; that's for sure."

"Indeed," Sherlock said, and secretly reflected the woman's need to flaunt her excessive wealth to all who knew about such things might have had some hand in her attack. But regardless, no one should have to die in an alley over a pair of shoes and a handbag.

"Use CCTV to see if you can see a young pair with a skateboard carrying bags leaving this area," he advised Lestrade.

"Donovan," Lestrade yelled moving toward his milling team. "I've got a job for you."

"Come on, John," Sherlock said walking briskly away from the scene. "Before he makes us help him."

"Don't you want to finish this and find them?" John asked falling into step beside him.

"Why? I've solved the crime. The rest is just watching CCTV video and applying facial recognition software. Tedious."

"All right then, if we're done here, tell me why you were late?" John said suddenly halting and putting a hand on Sherlock's arm. "You seem a bit more out of sorts than usual."

"I'm not "out of sorts," John," Sherlock said petulantly.

"So, you're not going to tell me?"

"I got a coffee," he said pointedly. "That's all. Oh, and I got you this," he said remembering the blueberry muffin in his pocket. He pulled it out and handed it over.

John peered into the bag. "A slightly bashed blueberry muffin. How thoughtful. Aren't these your favorite?" he asked tilting his head to the left. John used this particular gesture, Sherlock observed, when he was trying to sort out a possible lie. Was he trying to deceive John?

"I participated in a conversation," he began and started walking toward the end of the street.

John's eyebrows shot up into his fringe. "Did you?" John said hurrying to catch up, "With who?"

"With a fellow in Speedy's café. I got into a conversation with someone in Speedy's, and I lost track of the time," he explained noticing how his heart rate had sped up.

"What about? Sherlock, why you being so cryptic?"

"John, I…" he began and then decided not to reveal it afterward. "I've got an experiment at Barts I'd like to check on."

"I have a shift at the clinic in an hour. I'll see you tonight, afterward. Maybe we can celebrate?" John asked hopefully.

Eating out, a standard reward for solving a case didn't sound appealing to Sherlock this time. The case had taken him minutes to solve, and his mind already flitted back to his strange morning. "This was barely a 2, John. Hardly worth celebrating," he said distracted by thoughts of a certain volunteer fireman.

"Oh," John said his face falling slightly. Again Sherlock felt guilty. Why should it bother him at all if he'd disappointed John? There'd be other cases, much better cases, and they could celebrate those, right?

"Yeah, maybe another time, then?" he said. "I'm going to head to the clinic a bit early and catch up on some paperwork."

"See you later, then," Sherlock said as John headed towards the nearest tube station. As he watched the doctor go, he wondered how much longer John would want to solve cases with him. If you'd asked him yesterday, Sherlock would have said with certainty, forever. But today, he wondered if the thrill of the chase would keep John Watson interested and felt a second flutter in his belly. This one, however, was not so pleasant. This one felt more like panic.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock spent the rest of the morning at Barts working on two experiments he'd been meaning to do for weeks. He suddenly felt the need to be busy and not let his thought intrude upon important work. As infuriating as he could be, his brother was right about letting sentiment get the better of him. Molly came in once to ask him about some marks on a corpse. It gave him even more of a distraction to help her figure them out. She'd been appropriately grateful, smiling and stumbling all at once and he found himself empathizing with her. He'd known about her insipid crush on him for ages and it usually only hovered over the surface of his thoughts. He even found himself using it to his advantage on occasion. But today he observed her as she spoke to him. Her pupils dilated, her smile faltering at times and beaming when she thought his full attention on her. It struck him for a moment how much he meant to her. For years she'd hovered around him, attending to his every need or whim because she wanted to even when he'd treated her like a doormat.

"I wanted to thank you for helping me with Mr. Lamplighter, those were tricky marks to discern," she said. "Saved me a bit of bother trying to suss it out."

"Of course, Molly," he said trying to work his mouth into a genuine smile for her. "Not much of a challenge. Once you told me he was a mail carrier, I deduced the marks on his side came from his mailbag. He'd developed bruises and a small hematoma from the heavy bag hitting him in the same spot over and over."

"Yes, well, I wouldn't have put that together. Thanks, Sherlock," she said and turned to leave.

"You're welcome, Molly," he said, and she stopped in her tracks.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Fine," he replied. "Why's everybody asking me that today?"

"I dunno," she said. "You seem different today. Maybe a bit retrospective." She shrugged. "You usually don't say 'you're welcome'."

"Well, I should," he said thinking about it. "Maybe it wouldn't hurt me to learn a few social niceties."

It was Molly's turn to look surprised. "Are you trying to impress someone, maybe?" she asked archly.

"What? No!" Sherlock said suddenly flustered. "I just thought I might try to behave in a way that might endear me to…" He began rearranging his beakers on the lab table to give his hands something to do.

"Who?" she asked her expression suddenly eager. "Who is Sherlock Holmes trying to impress?"

"No one. John simply suggested I might try being nicer to ….people," Sherlock said trying to find something to latch onto in this excruciating conversation. John had often asked him to curb his acidic commentary and consider other people's feelings. He'd just never been that keen to do it before now.

"Oh, John suggested it," Molly said and her face relaxed. "I see. You think a lot of John's good opinion, don't you?"

"Of course," he said immediately. "I count on him in so many ways," here his brow knitted as he considered how much John did mean to him. Because of his constant companionship these few years, Sherlock didn't know, if he could ever live without John Watson in his future. He found he didn't want to think about it.

"You and John? Have you ever thought about being more than friends?" she asked gently.

"John?" Sherlock said almost too sharp. "John likes women. He dates as many of them, as often as he can."

"Yes, but he doesn't seem to keep any of them, does he?" Molly said. "The only one he seems to have kept is you, Sherlock."

He wished that were true. He found himself wanting that to be true. At first, he pushed all thoughts of a romantic relationship with the Army doctor out of his mind. He'd been too focused on the work. And over time, John had certainly displayed no real affection for him other than friendship. A close friendship, Sherlock conceded, a necessary friendship. The thought of he and John having more than friendship, however, made him pause. John meant the world to him, and he couldn't imagine living at Baker Street without him but…

"All right, then," she said reaching out to pat the back of his hand. "I'll leave you to your experiment. I've got work to do myself," she said left him to his thoughts.

After finishing at Barts, Sherlock returned to Baker Street. The cab dropped him off in front of his flat and he jumped out as he usually did. He had the key in the front door before his subconscious mind alerted him to the fact that he was being observed.

Carter sat at one of the tables in front of Speedy's with a cup of tea and a sandwich in front of him. If Sherlock had been a betting man, he'd have laid a fairly large wager on the idea that he'd been waiting around for him to return.

"Hello Sherlock," he said beaming at him in such a friendly way Sherlock's heart skipped a beat, as they say. He stopped trying to unlock his door and turned to greet the barista. If possible, he looked even more golden in the afternoon sun.

"Carter," he said in acknowledgment. It occurred to him he didn't know the man's surname, and it bothered him.

"Solved it, did you?" he asked and picked up his teacup for a sip.

Sherlock didn't know what to do with himself. Should he answer or should he just push his key in the lock, turn it and flee up to the flat. His brain yammered at him to find something witty to say, but he settled for, "Yes. Got it sorted straight away."

"Good," Carter said and looked genuinely pleased for him. "It's amazing what you can do."

And there was that glow again. The blossom of warm fire in his chest at Carter's words and he saw the same spark he'd seen that morning. Perhaps it was just hero worship. God knew he'd chastised others for daring to put too much faith in him. But at this moment, Sherlock felt good about his abilities. He felt good about the look of admiration in Carter's eye, so he paused. He didn't turn the lock, and instead faced the man sitting at the table and smiled. This smile just happened. It spread over his face like the rosy glow on a sun-ripened tomato, naturally. Somehow, this young man brought out a warmth in him he didn't know he possessed. So, he took a step forward and sat down.

"Thought you might have been trying to avoid me," he said cheekily.

Sherlock chuckled. "Why would I avoid you. You gave me a free muffin; one of my favorites."

"I asked Jenny about you," Carter said keeping direct eye contact with Sherlock.

"What did you discover?" Sherlock asked sitting up a bit straighter.

"A few things, but I don't want to over step at all. Are you and Dr. Watson together? I mean she did suggest that he seemed to prefer the ladies. She said he's even brought a few into the café, but I wanted to make sure."

"John and I? No, we're not together," and here Sherlock felt the ache from this morning fill him up for a moment. "He does seem very intent on dating women," Sherlock said.

Carter's smile widened, "Are you seeing anyone else?"

"No," Sherlock said. "Not in a long while." He'd be a fool not know the man's next question, so he waited for it to come.

Carter inhaled, let out a breath and said, "Can I take you out to dinner tonight? On a date?

There it was. It had been over fifteen years since anyone had expressed more than a casual, sexual interest in him. Oh, he'd had both men and women flirt with him, and even invite him to their beds. But, not counting John, he couldn't remember a time when someone wanted to get to know him or take him out on a date. He found he liked the idea very much. Perhaps there was something to this relationship business after all.

"There's a Thai place near here. We could meet there?" he found himself replying and again couldn't actually say how the words arrived in his mouth.

Carter lit up, and Sherlock couldn't help but feel his breathing quicken at the man's positive response. He was delighted at his acceptance. "Yeah, or I could meet you here, and we could walk there together?" Carter said leaning forward and smiling so broadly Sherlock thought his face must hurt by now.

"That would be acceptable," Sherlock said chuckling. Carter's enthusiasm spilled over onto him and he found himself grinning back. "I have to say I'd never have thought someone like you would ever be interested in me," Sherlock said.

"Are you kidding? I don't know why you're available at all. You could have any number of men? women? I couldn't believe my luck when you walked in this morning. I only caught a glimpse of you yesterday, but when you looked at me with those eyes," Carter paused a moment. "I knew I had to at least try; I'd have kicked myself for the rest of my life if I hadn't."

This entire conversation was unprecedented and there'd never been a time in his life when he'd wished to be on the receiving end of an exchange like this. He'd so often scorned others who looked at each other with calf eyes. Romance seemed pedestrian and mundane to him his entire life, until now. This feeling of being wanted sat on him like a strange fire, the more he got of it, the more it burned. "I'll see you tonight then? About seven?"

Carter leaned in a bit further, and Sherlock noticed a dimple in his left cheek that formed when he crooked up one side of his mouth in a lopsided smile, and an overwhelming urge to kiss it spun through him. He backed away before he gave into it and embarrassed himself. "I'll be here at seven, then."

Sherlock stood then and without a backward glance, strode to his door, unlocked it and went upstairs.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock waited nervously behind the front door of 221B Baker Street; He'd been there since 6:45 and he fully intended to wait until 7:00 pm and open the door casually when Carter knocked. He'd practiced breathing calmly. He didn't want to appear too nervous nor too detached. He didn't want to botch this up.

He'd changed clothes at least a half dozen times finally opting for a dark blue button up shirt, no tie, and a jacket. Because of the warmth of the day, he'd decided to forgo his usual armor and leave the Belstaff at home. If he wanted to give this relationship a try, he'd have to be less prickly and standoffish. He hadn't spent two years watching John woo his insipid dates not to have learned something from him about interacting with the object of his desire.

Speaking of desire, Sherlock had spent the ensuing hours thinking about whether or not Carter might want to be physical with him. He'd showered, of course, shaved and put on his best cologne. He'd taken some care with his hair and even trimmed his nose hairs for god's sake. He hoped this nervous, jittery part of the relationship would last only a mercifully short time. He doubted he could sustain the illusion of good humor indefinitely. But, for the sake of seeing Carter smile at him again like he'd done that afternoon, Sherlock would try.

The casual knock startled him out of his reverie. He straightened and counted to ten. He did not want the man to think he'd been lurking behind the door to spring out at him like a Jack-in-the-box. Then, he opened the door and found Carter waiting on the pavement. If anything, he looked delicious in a white cashmere jumper and worn denims that appeared to have been tailored just for his spectacular physique. Sherlock couldn't help but look him up and down.

Carter nodded and grinned, "I pulled out all the stops. Just for you, Sherlock," he said spread his arms and gave a little twirl. The denims hugged his ass like a glove and Sherlock drug his eyes up to meet Carter's. They were green, Sherlock noted. How had he not noticed that before?

"You looked good in your café clothes, but I have to say this suits you better," Sherlock said and stepped out to meet him.

"God, you look like you stepped off a runway," Carter said. "But you always do."

"Hmmm, always?" he asked something about the idea nagging in the back of his mind.

"Yes," Carter said and fell into an easy step next to Sherlock. "Lead the way."

The next hour passed quickly. Sherlock ordered something he'd only pick at, and Carter tried the Pad Thai. He'd spent his time researching how to make a first date go well. One website suggested being a good listener if the other person liked to talk. So, Sherlock consciously spent the hour listening to Carter's descriptions of his firefighter training. He asked specific questions and nodded in encouragement.

In return, he described the case he and John had solved that morning and Carter listened in rapt attention and Sherlock was rewarded with that look he'd been craving since that afternoon.

"I've got a confession to make," Carter said finally.

Sherlock waited for him to continue, "And, that is?"

"I've read about you in the papers. I mean I knew what you did before I met you today. I've been amazed by you for a while now. I just never thought I'd get to know you. I've seen pictures of you. It's kind of like meeting a famous person you've heard about in the news or on the Telly but never really concentrated on until you met them face-to-face. It's a bit surreal."

"I've held off deducing you, you know," Sherlock said.

"Why?" Carter asked. "I half expected you to have done it already."

"No. I've made that mistake too many times in the past. I'd like to get to know you the old fashioned way. I want to talk to you."

Carter blinked. "Sherlock, that's great. In fact, that really great. I've been nervous about your observations and what you might see in me all evening. It's a bit of a relief actually," he said stretching his arms up over his head and sitting back in his chair. The sight of those deltoids and triceps, Sherlock nearly melted. The man knew how to display himself doing the most natural, everyday things. It struck him then that John was every bit as fit as Carter, but it never showed under his frumpy jumpers and jacket. He'd seen John with his shirt off many times over the years, and it seemed to Sherlock that Carter could almost be a younger version of John.

In fact, Sherlock had already deduced everything he needed to know in the first few minutes this morning but, what Carter didn't know, wouldn't hurt him. Besides, this could be quite the challenge.

Carter consumed his entire meal. Workouts tended to make him hungry he explained as he enthusiastically ate. Sherlock picked at his pork taking only cursory bites when Carter looked up from his plate long enough to notice him. His youthful buoyancy amused him. John ate well most of the time, but he'd never seen a man take to his dinner so heartily. Also, Carter said nothing when the waiter finally cleared their plates away and tisked at Sherlock's almost full plate.

After dinner, they decided to go for a walk in nearby Regent's Park. Carter lived a fair distance away and had two flat mates to help him with expenses. The weather held out and the summer night seemed to stretch on. The two of them strolled down the tree covered paths on the outer edge of the park talking about anything that came to mind. Sherlock found Carter easy to talk to. It was like having a clean slate where all the negative baggage in his life had been cleared away. For tonight at least, his date would only know what he wanted him to know, and that seemed a fine thing.

Sherlock took Carter to one of his favorite places in the park, the waterfowl collection, to look at the birds. It had been one of Sherlock's most treasured memories as a child to come to this park and identify all the different bird species.

To Sherlock's surprise, Carter identified a green woodpecker and pointed it out. Sherlock's estimation of his date rose considerably, and he found himself walking a bit closer to him as they continued down the path toward Marylebone Road. The sun had begun its decent and Sherlock felt like they would call it a night. He found the idea of taking things slow very appealing and Carter seemed in no rush to push him physically. If felt good to simply walk along the path together. As they crossed the wooden bridge leading to the park's exit, Sherlock's eye caught a figure walking toward them. He wasn't entirely sure but the straight back, short frame and sandy hair called to mind an ex-army doctor he knew.

"There's Dr. Watson," Carter said shading his eyes from the last golden glow of the sun.

Sherlock's stomach did a slow lurch at the name, and sure enough, the figure materialized into John. He didn't know what to expect from this encounter, and his trepidation grew when he saw John had recognized him and stopped in his tracks. He and Carter continued until the caught up with John, who stood unmoving, sharp blue eyes taking in the scene before him.

"Sherlock?" he said as they neared. "You weren't home, so I decided to take a walk before the sun went down. Who's this?" he asked.

"John, this is Carter. I mentioned I'd spoken to him this morning," Sherlock said looking at John's confused face and back to Carter's open, friendly one. "We've been out…"

"Out?" John asked shifting his gaze now to the younger blonde man in front of him taking his measure.

Carter sensed he was being sized up and threw back his shoulders in an unconscious gesture of readiness. "Sherlock and I had dinner. We've just been admiring the waterfowl."

John licked his lips, and his eyes moved back to Sherlock. He seemed to note their close proximity and Carter's open stance suggesting at the tentative intimacy that had been building between them during the evening.

"Dinner? With Sherlock?" John's expressions moved from confused to resolute, and he finally seemed to arrive at a decision. he offered his hand to Carter. "Pleasure to meet you…"

"I'm Carter Wright, Doctor Watson. It's a pleasure to meet you too," Carter said shaking John's hand with enthusiasm. His face showed a much smaller measure of delight at meeting the other half of the Watson/Holmes duo Sherlock noted with some satisfaction. He found he didn't want to Carter to find John nearly as interesting as himself. Even though he thought John was amazing, he fought back the idea that Carter would see it too and suddenly forget all about him. Then, he realized how ridiculous it was to be jealous of John Watson. John wasn't gay.

"I didn't know you had plans this evening Sherlock," John said with a tight smile. The smile didn't reach his eyes, Sherlock noticed.

"I didn't know myself until Carter invited me this afternoon," Sherlock said. He couldn't help but feel as if he had accomplished an important personal step in acquiring this date. John couldn't understand what a difficult thing this had been for him to do. The fact that they had seemed to be hitting if off had in no small measure given him a great deal of confidence in his ability to connect with someone. John simply had no problem in that area and couldn't know his struggles. He went out on dates so often.

Could he help it if he wanted to crow a bit about it? Carter Wright, Sherlock took a moment to reflect on the appropriateness of his surname, was one hell of a catch. He felt like saying, "Look, John, look who likes a surly, disgruntled consulting detective like me." But, something felt off about it all. He hoped the tension he felt coming from John had to do with the suddenness of the situation, and nothing more.

"I'll let you two get on, then," John said. "I should probably head back myself. It's going to be dark soon."

"Good night, Dr. Watson," Carter called as John headed back toward the main road.

"Call me John, please," he called back over his shoulder.

They continued their walk in silence while Sherlock thought about how that had gone. "I think he took it well," Sherlock finally said.

Carter looked up at the fading sky and said, "You think highly of him. You want his approval?"

"I don't need anybody's approval to go out with…" Sherlock stopped himself. "I've enjoyed this evening very much," he said and without thinking, he reached out to take Carter's hand.

Carter responded by pulling Sherlock close. Carter stood only a few inches shorter than the lanky detective. "I've wanted to kiss you all night. Can I?" he asked.

Sherlock nodded feeling a plesant tingling in his chest. Carter turned his head slightly and brought his lips to Sherlock's plush mouth. Sherlock's eyes closed while this picture perfect man kissed him slow and sweet. Before finishing the kiss he sucked Sherlock's bottom lip slightly before pulling away. It felt as good as he thought it would. He brought his hands up to Carter's chest spread them across and down his sides. Fortunately, they were alone on the dusky path, and Sherlock decided to push a little further and go in for another silky kiss.

It had been a very long time since Sherlock had allowed himself this and what had started out as a simple kiss turned into a full-blown snog. Carter let out a small moan as Sherlock's hands found his short, blonde hair. Kissing this boy sent blissful waves of pleasure washing over him. He'd wanted to do this all night.

Eventually, they broke apart. They were in a public place, and it might not be the best place to test their newfound desires for each other.

"Damn," Carter said smiling that crooked smile Sherlock was beginning to really like. "I'm not sure those moves are legal, detective."

"I assure you, they are," Sherlock said and gave him one more kiss before disengaging and clasping his hand to pull him along the path. "Would you like to come up for a while?" Sherlock asked.

"You are going to kill me," Carter said with a laugh. "If I do any more of that, I'm afraid of the consequences. I like you, Sherlock, and I'm in this for real if you want that. But, I want to take this slow and let you be sure. Besides, I've got to be up at 5:30 for the café. I'm off this weekend. Want to do something then?"

Sherlock felt a fierce disappointment at the idea of waiting. "Yes," he said wrapping his arm around Carter's shoulders. "This weekend, then."

Sherlock insisted on walking Carter to his tube stop. It took all his willpower not to follow him home.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock let himself into the flat as quietly as possible. For some reason, he wanted some time to reflect on what had just transpired. He felt giddy, elated and guilty all at once. John had seemed odd at the park. Gracious knows he'd often sabotaged John's dates, mostly on accident, so he was inherently grateful for the gracious acceptance of the situation John had stumbled upon. Honestly, Sherlock wasn't sure what his status was at the moment. Were he and Carter just dating? Were they a "couple?"

On the one hand, Carter seemed very keen on him. He'd made it clear he wanted to see him again. On the other hand, he hadn't wanted to come up to the flat. Since it had been so long since he'd had romantic contact, he didn't know the etiquette anymore. Not that he ever did, he mused. His dating experiences in Uni were fraught with heated exchanges, secretive sex followed by bitter resentments when his lovers decided the balance of acerbic observations began to outweigh benefits of the terrific sex. Every one of his exes in the past had found fault with his instinctive need to deduce and say what he observed. The only exception had ever been his unique friendship with John. So, Sherlock vowed that his time, he'd keep his observations to himself no matter how tempting.

As he entered the sitting room, he saw John in his chair reading the newspaper. He held it up high so Sherlock couldn't see his expression. Was John hiding from him? Sherlock wondered.

"John," Sherlock said evenly while moving to the sofa and sitting down.

"Sherlock," John answered the same way.

Not exactly the exuberant reaction he had hoped for, but he didn't seem angry either.

"How was clinic?" Sherlock asked politely.

"How was clinic?" John repeated speaking from behind the paper. "You've never asked me how I got on at the clinic. Do you really want to know?" Sherlock noticed his the pitch of his voice kept rising as he spoke.

"I might…" Sherlock tried to respond.

"If you didn't want to go out with me you could have just said why," John said finally lowering the paper. "I'm a grown man, you can tell me when you want to go out with some other person," John said now glaring over the top of the paper.

John's ire flashed from his features. There had been many times when John's anger had reached out and most of the time Sherlock felt the doctor was truly justified in his emotions. Sherlock usually did dangerous things that nearly got them hurt or killed all the time. But this time, his anger did not seem right.

"I met him today, John. This morning. That's why I was late. He works downstairs in the café and we hit it off."

John's jaw dropped open, "You hit it off? Do you know unlike you that sounds, right? You don't like anyone."

"I like you," Sherlock said.

John abruptly shut his mouth and brought the paper back up to its original position. "I like you too, Sherlock." He said from behind the paper in a somewhat calmer tone.

Sherlock waited in silence for a few minutes. He could hear John breathing and he knew that nothing had been settled. This conversation was far from over. He sank into his thinking pose, head on the back of the sofa and knees bent out in a wide "V." John would continue at his own pace.

"So that was a date? You went on a date with Carter from the café? Am I getting this right?" John asked finally giving up on the paper and folding it carefully across his lap.

"Yep," Sherlock said popping the "p."

That answer seemed to set John off again, "He's how old?"

"I'll grant you, he's younger than I am. But, I don't think twenty-eight is robbing the cradle, John."

"Twenty-eight, Jesus Sherlock…" he said shaking his head. "You two have a lot in common, then?"

"Not really," Sherlock said evenly, pressing his fingertips together a little tighter.

"Huh," John said. "Then what's the attraction?"

Sherlock turned his head to look at John. He kept steady eye contact then licked his bottom lip slowly and deliberately. "Aside from his smile, I like the way he looks at me," he said slowly.

John's eyes widened slightly at this and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. They stayed that way a moment longer then John broke eye contact and stood up. "So you like him, and like the way he looks….at you?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered keeping his face as calm as he could. "I like the way he looks….at…me."

"You going to see him again?" John asked after a moment.

Sherlock deduced John. There was clear tension around his eyes and mouth. This conversation unsettled him in a most profound way; Sherlock saw with clarity the signs of distress as John's left fist clenched and unclenched.

"This weekend. We've made plans," he said.

"I thought you didn't go in for that sort of thing," John said. "Before today, I would have sworn an oath you didn't. Even Irene Adler, who I thought you might have felt something for, ultimately didn't move you. But, I guess a person can change their mind."

Sherlock smiled then. John just might be able to see how much he needed this. He hoped so.

"And if you get a case?" John asked.

"Many humans in this world find a way to balance significant people and a job in their lives. I am moderately intelligent, and I can do both. I've just never tried before. I always thought relationships happened to others not to me. I want to try this, now. I've wanted…" but here he stopped. What had he wanted? Two years ago on that first night at Angelo's, he thought John had wanted something with him, but when it they'd spoken about it out loud, they'd both backed down.

"I've wanted it before now. I just didn't know how to ask for it," Sherlock said and waited.

John inhaled deeply, "I see. So you're asking Carter for it?"

"Yes," Sherlock said.

"All right, Sherlock. I do know what you mean, you know. I've been looking for it too. Only," and here he smiled sadly, "I've got a feeling I've been trying in the wrong places."

"John," Sherlock said feeling they were on the verge of new territory here, and it frightened him. John liked women. He dated women and Sherlock never dated anyone. It had served them well for two years, but now their carefully constructed world might just crack apart if Sherlock pursued Carter. Could he give up John's companionship if that's what it took?

His face must have conveyed some of his distress because John's face softened. "I'm all for this, Sherlock. I'd love to see you happy with someone. Of course, you can have both. You'll make it work."

At John's words, something broke in Sherlock's chest. He felt like crying.

"You and I won't …change? Will we?" Sherlock asked. "We'll still carry on working together, right?"

John crossed the room and sat next to him on the sofa. "Hey, of course, Sherlock. I didn't mean to come down so hard just now. I have no intention of going anywhere. Besides, I can't wait to get Mr. Wright to a proper pub, ply him with drinks and tell him all kinds of stories about a certain consulting detective.

Sherlock shot him a look of pure horror, "No, John. You wouldn't!"

John laughed then, a genuine chuckle and the fearful tension in Sherlock's chest shifted a little, and he relaxed.

"No, I wouldn't. If this is going to work, you'll have to make all your own mistakes. Just let me know what you want me to do or say and I'll be your wingman."

"What's a wingman, John?" Sherlock asked puzzled. He'd never heard the expression.

John rolled his eyes and jabbed him in the ribs. "You'll just have to wait and see," he said.

"Thank you, John," Sherlock said feeling a sense of gratefulness wash over him.

"I'm done for the night. I think I'll take a shower and go to bed," John said standing up from the sofa and stretching. As he did, his jumper rode up just a little revealing John's stomach and part of a protruding hipbone peeked over the top of his trousers. While John didn't have Carter's rock hard abs or rippling muscles, Sherlock found he quite liked John's small, compact body all the same. Somehow it felt much more like home.

"G'night Romeo," John teased as he climbed the stairs to his room. "I'll see you in the morning."

"John, do not compare me to that fictitious character. Romeo's heart was fickle and his judgments overclouded with dangerous sentiment," Sherlock returned.

John barked a short laugh at that. However, just before Sherlock lost sight of him at the top, he saw John's smile slip just a bit.


	6. Chapter 6

The next few days passed quickly for Sherlock. He kept himself busy working on a complex case for Lestrade and tried not to think about Carter's soft lips. It was Wednesday, and they'd arranged to go out again on Friday night. Of course, Sherlock could have visited the café and seen the object of his desire, but he and John had had run themselves into the ground the past few days chasing a notorious killer.

They'd been so busy Sherlock barely had time to think about anything else. As usual, John was there lending his help. His new dating status didn't seem to affect John at all. He still offered his assistance, eagerly offered to help with cases and chased after criminals with Sherlock as if nothing had happened. Engaging in the case had helped take his mind off what might happen this weekend, but as he progressed through the case, the inevitable end approached. He had it solved by Friday morning. As he and John made their way back to Baker Street in a cab that afternoon, he got a text from Carter.

 **How are you doing today, Sherlock?**

 **Fine - SH**

 **I've just sold my last blueberry muffin of the day, and I'm thinking of you.**

 **I'm sure that's good for the café. -SH**

 **You know how much I enjoyed our date. I'm looking forward to seeing you again.**

Sherlock had no idea how to respond to these texts, so he swallowed his pride and asked John for help. He read through the messages and the corner of his mouth ticked up in a half-smile. "I've gotten a few of these over the years. He's just telling you he's thinking about you, Sherlock. What do you want to say back to him?" John asked.

Sherlock looked at the collected messages and couldn't think of what to say. It had never seemed this difficult when he messaged John, why should it be so hard with Carter? It only needed to be a simple assurance, surely? But what?

Sherlock sighed, looked down at his phone and placed it back in his pocket. Perhaps it would be easier when Sherlock saw him in person. He hoped so.

"Here, let me," John said and held out his hand.

Sherlock handed it over wordlessly. What would John say back? He had another uneasy flop of the stomach at the thought.

John's fingers moved quickly as he responded.

 **I had a great time too. I always look forward to spending time with you. – SH**

Carter quickly replied,

 **Good, I'm glad. I want you to meet my flat mates. One of them is a volunteer like me. The other one is a full-fledged fireman.**

 **I'd love to meet your friends. – SH**

"John," Sherlock said when he read the responses. "I would not like to meet his friends. I've barely gotten past meeting him!"

John chuckled, "Welcome to the world of dating, Sherlock. When you become a part of someone's life, you become a part of their whole life, warts and all."

"Are you suggesting his friends are warts, John?" Sherlock asked.

"No, but I know you don't socialize much. It might be good for you to branch out a bit, Sherlock. Expand your circle of friends."

Carter's quick reply let him know John's responses were appreciated.

 **Great. Can you come to mine tonight? We can have a few drinks, and you can meet them.**

 **Text me the address. I'll be there. Any friends of yours are friends of mine. –SH**

Sherlock groaned at the last response. "I would never say that, John."

"I know, Sherlock. But, this is the job of a wingman This is how I help you get Carter."

"Fine," Sherlock said. "But, you're coming with me." The very thought of spending time with people he didn't know made him more than uneasy. He liked having Carter to himself, but he hadn't thought there would be others involved.

"Sherlock, I don't think that would be a good idea," John said.

"I looked up the duties of a wingman, John. And, if you're my wingman, then you will have to help me get through this social outing. I have no idea what fireman talk about," Sherlock said panicking.

"Okay," he said patting Sherlock's arm. "I'll come with you then," John said, and then his fingers moved on the phone's keypad again.

 **I'll be there around seven. John's coming with me. Your friends can meet mine. – SH**

 **Yeah, of course John can come. We can play darts and make a night of it.**

Sherlock reread the messages. "Darts?" he groaned wondering how he'd get through a night that included drinking, playing an inane game and making small talk with Carter's friends.

John gave him a gentle punch in the arm, "Buck up Sherlock. You'll be surprised how much you'll learn about him through his friends. Just give it a chance and you'll see."

Another text came through, and John looked down at the phone. Whatever he read there caused the light to leave his eyes for a moment. He pursed his lips into a tight line before giving his head a small shake as he read. Sherlock didn't think he knew he was doing it.

 **I'm glad you're coming over. My room's the attic loft. Very private.**

Sherlock's cheeks pinked up as he read the text, but John's fingers never faltered as he continued to respond to Carter's texts.

 **Can't wait to get you alone. – SH**

 **Me either.**

 **I never thought I'd like someone as much as I like you. –SH**

 **I'm glad you took a chance.**

 **See you tonight. :)-SH**

John handed back Sherlock's phone without making eye contact. "See, it's not that hard," he said looking out the taxi window.

"Not for you," Sherlock said a bit softer than he intended. "You always did know what I meant even when others didn't. Thank you, John."

"Sure," John said, and they rode the rest of the way home in silence.


	7. Chapter 7

John insisted they stop off and buy something to bring to Carter's flat. They couldn't show up empty-handed. Sherlock wanted to buy an expensive bottle of wine, nearly 50 quid, but John suggested beer would better suit the evening. Besides, he laughed, if Sherlock started off bringing over the good stuff on the first night, Carter might become accustomed to lavish gifts. Sherlock had to learn to pace himself if he wanted to play the dating game. They also brought pretzels and chips along with them as well.

Sherlock wasn't sure how much he should trust John's advice as he'd hadn't kept a girlfriend longer than a few months since they'd lived together, but he had to admit, John knew far more than he did.

He was less nervous than last time he'd gone out now that John along with him. Carter and his mates lived in a pleasant brownstone with large windows located in a decent, residential area. It was a three-story building and their flat perched on the top.

Sherlock paused a moment before waking up to the door and looked up. He saw the attic room had a flickering light burning. Carter might up there right now. He thought about it would be like to be up there with him and what they might do. He felt that same stirring of lust he'd had on the first day he'd met him. He wanted to touch and be touched. Carter had suggested that and more.

"You ready for this?" John asked him. "You must really like him."

"John," Sherlock said. "I don't know what I feel for him, yet. I like how he wants me. I want him too. I've been feeling different lately. I've wanted to be with another person. Every time I see you go out on a date or you bring a girl home, I want it too. To be with someone."

"Why haven't you ever said before now?" John asked.

"I don't know. It's only recently that I felt something missing. The work fulfills me. I don't even notice other people when I'm working, but sometimes I lie in bed on the nights I do sleep, and find myself lonely."

"That's a good thing, Sherlock," John said stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans and looking at the cracks on the sidewalk. "Not the loneliness thing, but wanting someone in your life. That's a good thing."

The only other person I've ever liked before now was you. I mean..John," he stopped suddenly realizing how he must sound. And we…don't," he couldn't finish his sentence.

"I know, Sherlock," John said softly. "We don't do we? Even though everyone assumes we do."

Sherlock suddenly wanted to go home. Being here was far too much to bear and home was comfortable, and home was John in his chair reading the paper. Why did he want more than he already had with John?

Because, it wasn't enough anymore. Carter offered more.

He squared his shoulders and decided to press on. John was here with him. He'd do fine.

They rang the buzzer, and a male voice asked, "Yes?" followed by a female giggle.

"Sherlock and John," Sherlock said feeling antsy already. Obviously, there were going to be more people present than advertised. The security door popped opened, and they climbed two flights of stairs to the third-floor.

Before they could knock, the door to the flat opened up, and the pair were greeted by Carter's roommate David and his girlfriend Trisha. They were both in their early twenties and very pleased to meet Sherlock. Electronic pop music played subtly in the background.

"Come in, both of you," David said waving them in. He, like Carter, looked very fit under a modest button-up and khaki trousers,his shapely feet bare. "Carter's upstairs. He'll be down in a bit."

Trisha beamed at both of them and shook their hands. "I've seen ya both in the papers," she said in a strong Northern accent. "You solved that girl's murder last month. The one with orthodontist boyfriend who kept her locked in his basement?"

"Yes," Sherlock while said looking for a place to sit. He found an empty sofa and sat primly in the direct middle of it while replying, "That one took at bit to figure out. But we solved, right John?"

"Yeah," John said smiling. "Brought some adult beverages," he said holding up his bags.

"Thanks," David said. "Let's get those open."

Someone pressed a beer into Sherlock's hand, and he took a cursory sip for politeness sake. He hated beer, but he smiled and nodded as if he loved it. He watched John for cues. John leaned against the kitchen counter and looked about the room. He seemed relaxed.

John and David struck up a conversation easily, and Sherlock also began to relax letting his spine curve into the back of the sofa. He could do this. He just wished Carter were here.

Trisha took the opportunity to sit next to him on the couch. Her fruity perfume wafted over him as she settled very near him. "So, you and Carter are dating?" she asked twirling a strand of her long brown hair on a finger.

Sherlock nodded. He'd promised not to deduce Carter, but he couldn't keep himself from observing Trisha. Judging from her dilated pupils, she'd recently taken something recreational and was feeling the effects. "You're very different from Cart's last guy," she said conversationally.

"Oh?" Sherlock said. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted this information. But, Trisha seemed determined to deliver it. "You're much more mature. And, a lot more handsome. His last fella was into some weird shit," she said tracing a finger down Sherlock's forearm and punctuating the last word with a poke.

Sherlock's brow furrowed. Another reason he didn't date was staring him right in the face now. People came with personal experiences that shaped them. Just like John's military experience and previous girlfriends had worked to create his best friend, he'd have to realize Carter was not a blank slate.

Trisha continued, "His old beau, Frank, liked chasing stories about serial killers, and murderers. He was earning a degree in forensic science, and it was his hobby, I guess. He said it was for research. He wanted to write a book about European serial killers. He used to say American serial killers got all the attention, but there were plenty of high-profile killers here in the UK. Right adamant he was about it too!"

Sherlock's eyes caught the telltale sign of a lie in the way she looked away quickly. Her story also had a rehearsed quality to it.

Sherlock couldn't help himself so he asked, "Why'd they break up?"

"Oh that," her eyes darted away again. "I guess I let him tell you that part. But, I for one am glad to see the last of that bloke. He had this intensity," and she fluttered her fingers in front of her face, "that creeped me out a bit. But now, our little Carter's got himself a detective."

Sherlock didn't know what to say to in response to "got himself a detective" so he stayed quiet.

To his relief, Carter finally appeared. "Hey, Sherlock," he said greeting him with a happy grin. "Thanks for coming over," he said and sat next to him. Carter sat so close their thighs brushed together. John's eyes roved over the two of them, and his laugh stopped for just a second before he turned back to David to answer a question.

Carter found his hand and laced his fingers through Sherlock's. Time seemed to slow down a moment, and Sherlock saw John's eyes flick back to the two of them, and he inhaled deliberately. To an untrained eye, most people wouldn't have noticed a thing. But Sherlock noticed.

"You're so cute together," Trisha cooed at them. Sherlock kept his smile firmly plastered on his face. While he liked Carter's warm hand in his, he didn't like the attention it earned him. He wondered how long he'd have to endure it before he could disengage. But Carter sensed his discomfort and stood up pulling Sherlock off the couch and away from Trisha's perfume.

"Did you meet David?" he asked, and Sherlock nodded politely.

David had just finished laughing at something John had said to him, and he turned his gaze on Sherlock. "Carter's been telling us all about you, Mate. Can't stop raving about his crime-solving detective," he said easily. "Yeah, I can see it, Cart," the man said giving Sherlock the once over.

"What?" Sherlock asked feeling a slight indignation rising in him.

"He said you were a looker. We've all see you in the papers, but yeah, you've got a little something extra in person." Sherlock blushed at these words. He knew it was supposed to be a compliment, but it made him feel self-conscious.

"Hey," John said seeing Sherlock's discomfort. "He can't help it. Brainy is the new sexy," and Sherlock smiled at the "in" joke. "There's no crime this man can't solve, no problem too complex or subtle," John said heaping it on, with the look of admiration, always present when he referred to Sherlock's detective abilities, on his face.

Carter watched John as he spoke and subconsciously leaned closer into Sherlock's side, "Tell us about the new one?" Carter asked. "If you can speak about it? Yeah?"

"I don't see why not," he said. So, with John's help, Sherlock told the room about the case they'd just solved. He had their full attention. Carter especially stood enraptured, captivated. And, when John spoke, he still watched only Sherlock.

"Hey, where's Ian?" Dave asked when Sherlock finished. "He'd love to hear this."

"Who's Ian?" John asked.

"He's our other flat mate. I think he's out buying more beer. He texted me a bit ago and said he'd bring a pizza," David replied.

That seemed to please the room, but Sherlock couldn't help but groan inwardly. Pizza meant eating and eating meant more talking with others.

"How about a game of darts, John?" Dave asked.

"Sure," John said amicably. "I'll warn you, though, I'm pretty good."

"I'm better!" Trisha said laughing and opened a cupboard to retrieve the darts stored there. "Hang the board."

Sherlock wasn't sure she should handle projectile weapons in her current state, but since John was a doctor, he'd let him sort that out.

"While they're occupied, let me show you my room," Carter said low Sherlock's ear.

He felt the curious turn in his stomach that was half desire and half terror. He remembered his Uni days vividly. Each time he'd let a new person into his life, he'd felt the same terror of wondering if he were good enough, if he were doing it right. Those same feelings washed over him now. He did want to finish what they'd started in the park. He caught John's eye as Carter led him up a small staircase leading to his attic room and hoped his conflicting emotions didn't show on his face.


	8. Chapter 8

"Finally, I've got you to myself," Carter said shutting the door. He had a large attic space complete with sloping gables and an open space in the center. It was a very nice room. A comfortable looking double bed took up one corner. Carter wasn't much for decorating, but Sherlock noticed a stack of textbooks and manuals littering a small desk and the floor next to it.

"How goes the studying?" Sherlock asked not knowing what else to say.

"I'm taking a break tonight," he said and stepped closer to Sherlock. He put one hand of each of Sherlock's hips and pulled him close. "I've just been reviewing CPR techniques, so if your heart stops, I can get it started again."

Carter kissed him softly along his jaw and worked his way to Sherlock's mouth.

"It may just if you keep doing that," Sherlock said beginning to breathe faster.

Carter reached under Sherlock's jacket and deftly pulled it off his shoulders and down his back. "I'll take this and hang it here," he said carefully draping it over the back of the chair next to the desk. "Wouldn't want that perfect shirt to get wrinkled," he said and began pushing the buttons through the button holes until he'd had almost all of them undone.

Sherlock arrested his hands and kissed him again. This was moving much faster than the park, and he wished they could slow down a bit. But, Carter was young, fit and probably used to seducing or being seduced. So Sherlock let his hands go where they wanted. Carter pulled his tucked in shirt from his trousers then ran his hands over the front of Sherlock's chest.

He felt his nipples stiffen as soft fingertips brushed over them. Little pings shot through his stomach, and the kiss heated up. Sherlock placed his hands on Carter's lithe back and pressed him to his chest. Carter let out a soft moan and continued kissing Sherlock's neck, jaw, and earlobe. He smelled wonderful, a pleasant mix of subtle cologne and something chemical underneath?

"I can't believe you're here with me," Carter whispered pushing him back against his closed door. I've been dreaming of having you ever since…" he stopped himself and kissed him hard sending stronger shivers through him.

Sherlock felt a hand come up into the curls at the back of his neck and pull slightly. The slight pain combined with the kissing felt delicious, and his head spun with desire. He opened his mouth and let Carter's tongue claim his. It had been so long since he'd been touched it overwhelmed him for a moment and he broke the kiss. "Wait a moment," he breathed heavily. His heart skittered unpleasantly, and he felt it hard to draw breath.

Carter pulled back, concern on his face. "Sorry if I'm going too fast, love," he said.

Sherlock's brain registered the endearment and found it sat oddly in his mind. He wasn't anyone's love. No one loved him, no one except…

"I need to use the loo," he said wanting to step back for a moment. "I'll be back in a tick," he said breaking Carter's embrace.

"Sherlock," Carter said laying a hand on his shoulder. "Tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Be right back," he said and found the door knob just behind his back and turned it. The door opened into the hallway. He'd noted a lavatory on this floor and was grateful he wouldn't have to go back downstairs. He ducked into the small room. Its modern design had a small toilet, sink and shower all in one. He turned the tap and splashed cold water on his face. His lips felt swollen now, and he touched his fingertips over his bottom lip It still tingled from Carter's kiss.

He'd come here to be with Carter, touch him. Why was he running away now? He wanted this. He decided to use the facilities and then wash his hands. As he finished up, he noticed an unusual odor, chemical.

A small wastebasket sat in a corner but was empty. Sherlock felt odd looking through Carter's things, but something still nagged at him. The room had been recently scoured, and he could smell cleaning supplies. Perhaps Carter had been trying to impress him. There were no towels hanging up, so Sherlock opened a drawer looking for something to dry his hands, a few hand towels rested there, and he picked one up. But, underneath, Sherlock discovered a box with a woman's face looking back at him. Hair dye. Ah, he thought. Carter wasn't a natural blonde. Vanity comes in many forms. Sherlock rearranged everything back the way it was and headed back to Carter's room.

He hesitated a moment outside the bedroom. Going back downstairs felt like defeat, so he opened the door and went inside. Carter lay on the bed on his side. He'd removed his shirt and had his head propped up on one hand.

"Hi," he said. "You know we can take it slower if you'd like."

Sherlock finished removing his half-buttoned shirt and lie down next to him. "I'm okay," he said and put one hand on Carter's cheek. Just as he leaned down to try kissing again, he heard a sharp piercing alarm go off. The sound issued from Carter's phone on his desk and it caused the young man to start up suddenly.

"Damn!" he said scrambling off the bed and grabbing his phone. "Oh, ho!" he said reading a text message, eyes alight. "Four-alarm fire on West Portland Street. Sherlock, gotta go." He said pulling on socks and shoes.

Sherlock watched in bemusement. This must be what it was like for others to watch him when he caught wind of a good murder.

"Sherlock! Haven't had one this good in weeks," he said eyes gleaming. "I'm so sorry, love. We'll have to pick this up again later." He paused a moment in his dressing to kiss the top of Sherlock's head.

"I'll call you when I'm done. But right now, I've got to go to the station. "

"Cart! Let's go! " David yelled from the bottom of the steps. "Get the lead out!"

"Duty calls," he said as he opened the door to leave. "Take your time, hang out here as long as you want, but I'll be out all night. Good thing I've got tomorrow off," he said as he rushed out the door. "I'll call you…"

It was a novel thing for Sherlock to be the one left behind. If left him feeling odd and out of sorts. Of course, Carter must leave, and he must help take care of the fire. If the city didn't have men like he and David, where would society be? Sherlock sighed, found his shirt and buttoned up. He put his jacket back on and followed Carter back downstairs.


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock entered the main sitting room to find a chaotic scene. Carter and David were slinging bags of gear over their shoulders and bumping into each other as they barreled out the door.

Trisha and John stood out of the way in the kitchen watching the furious scurry of the two firefighters. When they left, there was thunderous silence for a moment.

"That happen often?" John asked with a chuckle.

"Yep," Trisha said. She still had a dart in her hand and absently twirled it in her fingers. John looked at her slack-jawed face and gently plucked it out of her hand. Trisha's happy high seemed to be wearing off, and she had grown languid and slow.

"I think we're done with these," John said and laid the dart with the rest. "You seem very tired."

Trisha moved over to the sofa and sank onto it. "They'll be at it all night," she said with a heavy sigh. "Dave said it was a quite a rager. They've called in at least two other departments."

"Trisha," John said moving to stand over her. He had his concerned doctor face on as he stood over her. "You okay?"

"John, I think I should tell you I observed that she seemed under the influence of something earlier," Sherlock said. He had the idea he might have spoken up sooner had his attention not been on other things.

"What did you take?" John asked.

"Nothing, Dr. John," she said rolling her eyes at him. I just had a couple of beers…" she said slurring her words as she drifted off.

John gently slapped her face, "Trisha, you need to tell me."

"I didn't take anything," she said sounded put out now.

Sherlock picked up an empty beer bottle she'd been drinking from and took a sniff. Without testing the contents, I can't be sure, but this one has some powdery residue in the bottom. I noticed earlier that she'd been displaying signs of some narcotic. Do you think she needs to go to A&E?"

"How many beers did you have, Trisha?" John asked raising his voice slightly.

She opened her eyes, and her head seemed to clear a bit. "Just two. I'll be fine. Just let me sleep," she said waving John away and curling over on her side.

"This doesn't seem right," John said. "She seems convinced she hasn't taken anything."

"We can stay a bit to make sure," Sherlock suggested.

"Yeah," John said. "Let's lay her out on the sofa."

As the two of them got her comfortably arranged, she opened her eyes and began to speak.

"Cart's new cutie," she said looking up at Sherlock, who stood next to John. "He's been after you a long time, Mr. Detective."

"What do you mean a long time? We only met a few days ago," Sherlock said crouching down to be at eye level with her.

"He's got a book," Trisha said smiling up through half-lidded eyes. "Up there," she said pointing to the top of a bookshelf near the window. "He hides it up there, but I've seen it. It's a souvenir from him."

Did the "him" she was referring to mean Carter's old boyfriend, Frank? Sherlock rose and went to the bookshelf. He reached up and pulled down what appeared to be an old-fashioned scrapbook. No dust. He turned it over in his hands and carefully looked at the cover. Made from expensive materials, it felt heavy in his hands.

"Sherlock don't," John said moving over to stand next to him. "That's private."

"You're in it, Sh'lock, and you," Trisha said pointing at John, "sort of." She finished speaking and lay her head back down on the sofa and closed her eyes. John returned to her side and double checked her pulse and other vitals.

"I don't think she's in danger. She'll be fine in the morning," John said after reassuring himself.

"Is that your professional opinion, Doctor?" Sherlock asked not taking his eyes off the book in his hands.

"Yes, Put that back, Sherlock," John hissed in agitation looking back at Trisha. But, he needn't have worried. Trisha snored gently.

Sherlock stared for a long moment at the blank cover embossed with gold filigree. There was nothing on the front to suggest what the book contained, but an uneasy buzzing began in his mind.

"I can't do that, John, and you know it," he said flipping quickly through the pages and discovering it contained a number of newspaper clippings, pictures copied out of magazines and small paper objects. He opened it to the first page and found an article under the clear, plastic sheeting from several years ago. The yellowed newsprint contained a story about a little-known serial killer named Agostino Pagni, who'd immigrated from Italy in 1970's and had killed over 15 young women in London. As Sherlock turned each page, he saw other obscure stories about various killers who'd been caught in places like London, Ireland, Scotland and Paris over the last forty years.

Carter had said his ex-boyfriend had been interested in serial killers.

But, when he got to second half of the book, the stories changed. Now, the content of each story had one thing in common, himself. They went back over the past five years, all the way back to when he'd first started solving crimes with Lestrade. During those years, he'd begun making regular appearances in journalistic outlets both large and small. His work had occasionally made the papers, but it wasn't until he'd begun working with John that his career had picked up. His media profile had certainly increased since then.

The first few stories showed him on his own standing next to Lestrade at New Scotland Yard. But as the stories progressed forward in time, he noticed something odd. In one such story, he'd just solved a high-profile case, and the camera had caught him looking out over a crowd of reporters. Something seemed off about the picture, so Sherlock lifted the plastic cover, and unfolded the picture. He was sure John had stood next to him, but it had been folded in a way that the doctor wouldn't show.

John moved over to stand next to him and stared down at the folded article. "Well someone's had a very keen interest in you," John said pointing at the date. "That one is about a year old."

Sherlock turned the page and found another article that had been written a month later. Again, John's image had been folded out of the picture, and Sherlock's own face stared back at him from the newsprint. He flipped through the rest of the book only to see image after image of himself. Trisha had been correct; this was a memorial of his cases, a personal shrine of sorts. But, what connection could there be between the killers and himself in the mind of whoever had created the book? Sherlock wondered.

Before they could look at the book further, they heard a click at the front the door, and it began to open.

Sherlock had the presence of mind to put the scrapbook behind his back before the door opened fully.

"Pizza's here," said a man in his late thirties as he pushed his way into the sitting room.

"You must be Ian," said Sherlock taking a step closer to John. "I'm Sherlock, and this is John," he said as the man took stock of the room. His eyes rested on Trisha laid out on the couch.

"She okay?" he asked setting his pizza box down on the kitchen counter.

He smoothed the hair back from her forehead and shook his head.

John looked up at Sherlock and nodded toward the top of the bookshelf. It was a silent signal that he'd try to distract Ian so they could replace the book.

"Do you have any idea what she might have taken earlier?" John asked.

"No, she must have shown up just after I left to get the food," he said shaking his head. "She gonna be okay?"

While John and Ian discussed Trisha's condition, Sherlock moved toward the book case and slipped the book back up on top. Fortunately, his height worked to his advantage, and he was able to return the book easily. But, more than anything, he wanted to take it home and pour over it. Why would Carter have such a thing?

"Why aren't you with the rest of them at the fire?" Sherlock interrupted moving over to stand next to John.

"Yeah, aren't you were a full-time fireman at their station?" John said stepping away from Ian.

"I've officially got the night off," Ian said and grinned. They'd only call me if the fire goes on too long. I might still get called in tonight. I'll let the young ones rush off to be the first one to the fires. They've still got the energy to burn," Ian said moving over to the counter. He casually lifted out a piece of pizza and took a bite.

While Ian busied himself getting a plate, Sherlock saw John pick up Trisha's beer bottle and slip it into his pocket. Clever, he thought. That way they could test the contents back at the flat.

"Since everyone has left, we'd better get going for tonight," Sherlock said giving John a poke in the back. We can give Trisha a lift home, though. The idea of leaving an incapacitated woman alone with Ian in the flat worried him.

"Stay. Have some pizza," Ian insisted. "It's still hot. I was supposed to get to know you, Sherlock. Give my seal of approval and all. We're protective of our Carter."

"No, we really must be going," Sherlock said tugging on the back of John's shirt as he began moving toward the door.

"You think Trisha's okay, then?" Ian asked taking another bite of pizza.

"As long as she doesn't drink any more tonight. She really shouldn't mix whatever she took with alcohol," John admonished. "Come on, love," John said giving Trisha a gentle push. "Let us give you a ride home."

Something twisted a little in Sherlock at John's use of the word, love. British men and woman for centuries had used the endearment, and it had never even registered with him before, but tonight he'd heard it twice. It had affected him very differently each time. When John said it to Trisha, Sherlock wanted. He wanted something he'd never wanted before.

"Help me get her up, Sherlock," John said and together they got Trisha to her feet. She began to wake up a bit more and asked, "Time to go home?"

"Yes," John said again, "We'll be sure to get her home safe, Ian."

They ushered her downstairs and into a cab. Fortunately, she lived only a few streets away, and they got her into her flat. She stumbled over the threshold and told them she'd be fine. She'd get herself to bed.

Sherlock climbed back into the waiting cab and looked at John sitting next to him. He had no idea how to feel about Carter's scrapbook, but he knew John would help him figure it out.

"You okay?" John asked after a long moment.

"Yes," Sherlock replied. "I've got a lot to think about, John." He still felt the phantom tingle of kisses on his lips, and grip of hands on his hips. He wanted that too. The interruption lay heavy on him. Now that he'd gotten a taste of it, he wanted more. But, when he thought about hands on his skin and lips and throat, he didn't picture Carter. He saw another face, one he was sure would never want him the same way, and he shook the vision away.

His eyes slid to the side, and he watched the ex-soldier carefully. John was worried about him. The contents of the scrapbook had rattled him more than he wanted to show. The pictures and stories of his best cases had shared space alongside those of serial killers. What did it mean? None of what he'd seen in the book made sense. But, the thing that bothered him the most had been the pictures where John had simply been folded out.

He turned his head and looked at the doctor. John returned his gaze the way he had hundreds of times before and said, "That book."

"Yes, John."

"Sherlock, that was not good," John said. "I don't want to say anything negative about Carter or his friends but…"

"Yes, John," Sherlock said again. "I've got a lot to think about," and he turned his head back to look at the tips of his fingers. "221 Baker Street please," he told the cab driver, and they eased out into traffic and headed toward home.


	10. Chapter 10

The two of them made their way upstairs to the flat. Sherlock went into his room and shut the door behind him. He could hear John in the kitchen puttering around making tea. He wanted to be alone to think about what he'd discovered in Carter's flat. But, his mind wouldn't still.

He lay his bed and decided to put the entire evening into his mind palace so he could sort out the details. He began by revisiting the moment he and John entered the firefighters's flat. He moved through the introductions and finally saw Carter enter come down the stairs to the sitting room. He recalled the quick way he had looked at John before he made eye contact with him and the momentary flatness of his features as he took in the doctor leaning on the kitchen counter before his face bloomed into warmth. His smile seemed genuine, welcoming with a touch of heated pleasure. Sherlock had latched on to it as a parched man welcomes a drink of water. He took it with both hands and drank it in. In his thirst for that elusive acceptance, he'd looked right past the obvious. His new acquaintance did not like John.

The scrapbook of the murders was another matter entirely. Sherlock guessed it had begun with Frank's obsession. Sherlock had helped to catch at least four of the killers he'd seen in the book. It made sense then that Frank would include him in his research about the killers. But the final articles were all about him. One had been about a painting he'd help to recover, and another had chronicled his involvement in recovering the stolen jewels of a wealthy socialite. No murders in either of those cases. If Carter had known this much about him, perhaps their meeting had been staged as well.

Sherlock didn't want to believe their connection had been orchestrated from the start. It had been a great personal achievement for him to have done this on his own or so he'd thought. He felt confusion and even anger at being betrayed in such a way.

He went back to his mind palace and moved into the attic bedroom where it became impossible not to let his imagination take things further in his memory. He saw Carter's hands gripping his hips. He closed his eyes and felt strong hands pulling and sliding up along his sides and down over his ass. If only the fire alarm hadn't sounded, he might have had just a taste of what he wanted and needed so badly.

He tried again to call up the time he'd spent in the attic room. He put Carter in his proper place and put himself in his arms, and tried to let the scene unfold. This technique had always worked before. However, the images that rose were not the same as he remembered. He felt hands move up his chest and bring his face down, to meet lips he'd seen smile at him with nothing but fondness for the past the two years. Carter's face melted in his mind to become a face so familiar to him he couldn't even imagine it being anyone else's. It became the one person dearest to him. It became the person who stood in the kitchen on the opposite side of the door making tea and toast as he'd done hundreds of times before.

He shook himself out of this false memory to hear John's light footstep as he got out two cups and two teabags. He always made tea for Sherlock even when he didn't want it and wouldn't drink it. There would also be two slices of toast and butter on the table. In a moment, John would knock lightly on Sherlock's door and tell him "tea." And when that happened tonight, Sherlock's heart felt like it might break into pieces.

John's presence in his life these past two years had been constant, predictable and perfect. The only thing missing between them had left an ache in Sherlock's soul that he felt he needed to fill with another person. When had this happened? he wondered. He'd known about John's sexuality from the start, but they had something significant together. If he didn't reach out and tell John what he felt, he might make a profound mistake in letting physical desires control his decisions. Did he actually feel anything more than lust pulling him towards the fireman?

"Sherlock, tea," John said tapping on the door.

Sherlock bounded off the bed and opened his door to see John's startled face. He held his own tea mug in one hand and a biscuit in another. Sherlock acted before he could back down. He placed both his large hands on either side of John's head and pulled him into a kiss. He only brushed his lips over the doctor's, applied a bit of pressure then pulled back.

John licked his bottom lip in surprise and stood still. "It's just tea," he said trying for a lighthearted response.

Sherlock waited for the shock of the kiss to wear off and said, "I don't want Carter. I want you, John."

John put his mug down on the floor and plunked his biscuit into the brown liquid. He stood up, tugged at the front of his jumper, squared his shoulders and stepped forward. He put both arms around Sherlock's waist and pulled him into a warm embrace. John turned his head, laid his cheek against Sherlock's chest and squeezed tight.

"I want you too, Sherlock," he said in a half-muffle. "I knew I'd waited too long to tell you and that I'd lost my chance when you met Carter. But, I'd hoped…"

"What did you hope, John?" Sherlock asked him.

"I hoped that he would teach you that love could be good. I wanted love to be good for you, Sherlock," John said and looked up at him.

Sherlock's heart did break then. "With you, it would be," Sherlock said, his voice deepening, cracking on the last syllable. "Only with you."

John smiled and put one hand on Sherlock's cheek. He pulled him down while at the same time rising up on his toes to kiss him. John tasted of tea and raspberry jam, a perfect combination. John's hand twined through Sherlock's hair softly, his thumb absently rubbing his ear in circles. His other hand spread wide on his back and pressed him forward as his kiss intensified.

Carter's kisses had been nice, but John's kisses were essential. Sherlock needed them. As soon as the first kiss started, he thought he would never get enough of this man. Sherlock moved his hands down John's back and pressed the doctor closer. John placed one knee between Sherlock's legs so they locked in place, fitting together perfectly. The kiss went on, gathering strength until Sherlock felt his breathing quicken. He tilted his head and broke apart for a second to inhale deeply. His head spun, but he never wanted this moment to end.

John took the opportunity to kiss along Sherlock's jaw sucking little love bites down his neck and along his clavicle to the middle of his collar bone. Sherlock's stomach lurched pleasantly with each brush of John's lips on his skin. His John. It was the missing piece of their relationship, and they both sensed it, needed it.

Sherlock let out a moan when John's mouth came back in for another searing kiss. He heard the mug clunk when one of his feet hit it sending warm liquid rushing over his shoe and soaking his sock. He didn't care; John was in his arms finally!

"Bedroom?" Sherlock in a low rumble. His mouth had migrated to John's ear, and he felt John's answering nod. His heart sped up. The idea of John in his bed sent shivers of joy through him. Where he'd almost had a panic attack while kissing Carter, touching John and having John touch him, felt better than breathing. Sherlock began moving backward until he had John all the way inside his room. He stood still a moment marking this occasion in his memory palace.

"Sherlock, are you sure you want this? Me?" John asked during the reprieve. "You seem to be getting on very well with Carter. You were up in his room a while…"

"Yes, John. I want you," Sherlock said grabbing a handful of John's button up and pulling him forward. I kissed Carter because I wanted," here Sherlock stopped. "I wanted this," he said and kissed John's neck just above his pulse point which caused him to inhale sharply. "With you. I didn't think you'd ever want me the same way."

"I've wanted you ever since our first case together," John said huffing out an incredulous laugh. "I want you more than anyone I've ever been with. I've spent a lot of nights in my room upstairs dreaming of you touching me. I dream of you running your hands over me, kissing me just like now," John said pushing Sherlock gently back onto the bed. "I've been with a few men before mainly in the army. But, I'd always considered myself a straight bloke who occasionally liked my guy mates. I didn't think you wanted any of it, male or female."

Sherlock lay his head back and sighed with pleasure as John began unbuttoning his shirt. Only an hour ago Carter's fingers had been doing the same thing. He looked up into John's face and saw a mixture of desire and delight at being in this position. "I want everything you can give me, John."

John arched one eyebrow at him and smiled. Sherlock knew that smile well. He knew it meant John had been issued a challenge and had every intention of meeting that challenge in a way that would surpass all expectations. Sherlock very much looked forward to participating in this challenge and decided he'd have a few surprises of his own.


	11. Chapter 11

Warning: Sexy smut ahead.

John was no stranger to sex. After all, Sherlock thought, he'd had quite a few opportunities to practice and perfect his techniques. After John finished unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt, he gently kissed him from collarbone to the waistband of his trousers. Then, he slipped the silk shirt off his shoulders and laid Sherlock out like sacrifice with arms spread wide.

John straddled him with Sherlock's long, lean body between his knees. "What do you like?" he asked softly.

"I liked the kissing," Sherlock said tilting his chin up hoping John might resume.

"Did you?" John said brushing his lips across Sherlock's cheekbones, eyes and the tip of his upturned chin. "I hoped you say that. Because I've wanted to take you in my arms and snog you senseless for quite some time now. Years actually."

At John's words, Sherlock wrapped both arms around John and pulled him down to lie on his chest. He tilted up his head and kissed John's lips. John nestled on top willingly. Sherlock could tell he was smiling broadly, but he kept at it until the doctor's mouth softened and opened up. They kissed and kissed trying new positions on the bed to see if they could get closer to one another. Sherlock heard a thunk as John's shoes hit the floor near his bed, and he toed off his own. Sherlock felt as if he flew above the city on wings of happiness. His best friend, his John, wanted him! John ran his hands along his sides and stroked over Sherlock's nipples sending delicious tingles all through him.

"Take this off," Sherlock said tugging on John's jumper and shirt.

"Yes sir," John said with a huff and a smirk. He disengaged himself from Sherlock's arms, got back up onto his knees and pulled his jumper over his head. Then, he unbuttoned his shirt slowly, teasingly until Sherlock wanted to reach up and rip it off of him. John slid one arm out and then the other all while making eye contact with him. It was the hottest thing Sherlock had ever seen. How could he have ever fancied John's pale imitation in Carter?

John's self-confidence radiated from him as he finished his impromptu stripping. Bare chested, John stopped a moment to let Sherlock look at him. John's skin, still golden from the desert sun, stretched over well-defined arms. His middle, while a bit softer, still made Sherlock want to reach up and run his hands all over him.

Sherlock sat up and pulled John back in for another long kiss. When their bare chests brushed against each other, Sherlock let out a sigh of bliss. Holding John next to him like this brought deep contentment. But, the more John kissed him, the more he wanted to take things further.

It seemed John must have sensed Sherlock's eagerness to move forward, so he slid his hand down to cover over the bulge in Sherlock's trousers. It felt incredible, so he closed his eyes to capture every detail while he moaned into John's mouth.

"Do you like this?" John whispered in Sherlock's ear.

"Oh yes," Sherlock said and placed his own hand to cover John's. Together, they moved up and down his shaft until the friction built up into delicious waves that kept him dancing on the edge of ecstasy. "God, John, I need more," he said breathing heavier with each stroke.

"Hmmm, Let's get these off then," he said and undid Sherlock's belt and flies. John tucked his thumbs into the waistband of Sherlock's trousers and pants. With one deft motion, he slid both garments off and tossed them toward the foot of the bed. The remainder of John's clothes soon followed suit. Now, they lie naked, limbs entangled, freely stroking each other's arms, chests and cocks stopping only to kiss languidly.

This might be the best night of Sherlock's life, he thought. Everything I've ever wanted I have in John Watson, best friend, companion, partner and now-lover all combined into one person. His ideal man.

"I've got to admit, I've wished for this, Sherlock," John said. "I've wanted to know what you'd look like with my hand wrapped around your cock, making you come for me." As he spoke these words, he reached into Sherlock's bedside drawer and pulled out a packet of lube and a condom.

"How did you know I had those there?" Sherlock asked for once incredulous as to how someone arrived at a deduction about himself.

"Let's just say I'd hoped your newfound interest in a handsome, young, blonde man might lead you in this direction. Turns out I was right."

The mention of the color of Carter's locks derailed Sherlock's interest for a second as he thought about that detail of his former boyfriend's life.

"John," Sherlock began. "I want you to know we never got that far. In fact, we'd just begun kissing when the alarm."

"Shhhhh. Nothing kills the mood quite like bringing up an ex-flame," John said tearing open the package of lube.

"Ex-flame is correct. You are my only flame, John," Sherlock said watching with avid interest as John unrolled the condom and placed it over his hardening cock. Then, he lubed up both hands and began touching, and caressing him until all he could do was lie back and let the waves of pleasure wash over him. John surged forward and kissed him while never missing a stroke. He drew out Sherlock's tongue and sucked in time with each downward stroke. The concurrent rhythms heightened everything and Sherlock knew he couldn't last much longer.

"John, I'm going to," he said shuddering with the intensity of holding his orgasm back.

John stopped then and held the bottom of his cock tight. A moment later the orgasm retreated, and he let out a muffled moan. Then, John moved down his chest and belly again until he stopped midway down. Sherlock felt warm heat surround his cock and felt John reach around to grab one ass cheek in each hand to pull him forward. Ah, John had him in his mouth and oh God, he'd never felt anything so pleasurable in his life.

Pleasure exploded into Sherlock's brain with each measured pull of John's tongue. The sensations began feather light, then as John sucked in his cheeks, Sherlock felt his orgasm grow until it exploded in a white hot flash of light behind his eyes. John kept him in his mouth until the final shudders retreated then carefully rolled down the condom and tossed it in the waste bin. He retrieved a flannel from the washroom and gently wiped away the sticky lube from his skin. Then, he curled up next to Sherlock, who was still riding the waves of post-coital bliss.

Sherlock wrapped one arm around John's shoulders and kissed the top of his head three or four times. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," he said feeling a single tear slide down the outside corner of his right eye.

"You are so welcome," John said.

"Can I do that for you?" Sherlock asked trying to shake himself from his endorphin high.

"No love, I'm happy enough just like this," John said and nestled his head onto Sherlock's shoulder and closed his eyes.

Love. John had called him love.


	12. Chapter 12

"I have a shift this morning, will you be all right here?" John asked Sherlock over breakfast the next morning.

"Of course, I'll be all right," Sherlock said indignantly. Did the man think he'd lost all ability to take care of himself overnight simply because they had been intimate?

"I know you'll be…Sherlock. I just meant you we still have some things to sort out. I can stay home today if you'd like," John said smiling and running a finger along the back of Sherlock's hand. It sent shivers up his spine.

Sherlock huffed out a little gasp and smiled back, "I'm going to analyze the contents of that bottle and see if I can pull up those cases I saw in that book. There must be some connection there I'm missing."

"All right, I have a short day. Only six hours and I can be home by two," John said. "I like to talk more about, well, all of it. You, me, Carter."

"There is no more Carter," Sherlock said and stood up from his chair. He crowded John up next to the counter and looked down into his eyes. "He's no longer a person I'd care to…" here he stopped ducking his head and not knowing how to continue. "You're not having second thoughts about last night?"

John reached up and placed his hands on Sherlock's cheeks. He pulled him down into a kiss and said, "Never. I know things will be different now, but I'll never regret anything we did last night. When I asked you if you wanted me to stay home today, I actually wanted you to say yes and pull me right back into that bedroom and have your way with me."

"Hmm," Sherlock rumbled, "You make a tempting offer, but," he said eyes roving over to the empty beer bottle on the kitchen counter.

John laughed good-naturedly and said, "You've got a puzzle to solve. Right, off to work I go." He gave Sherlock one last kiss on the cheek and said, "See you later, honey."

Sherlock looked aghast at him and said. "John, no! No silly endearments, especially not in public."

"You didn't seem to mind last night?" John said looking up into Sherlock's eyes searching for something he might have done wrong.

"I quite liked one in particular," Sherlock admitted lowering his eyelashes and looking at the tops of his bare feet.

John tilted his chin up so he could see his eyes, "Okay, love. Only that one and only in private."

Sherlock smiled and felt the glow in his chest return in full force. When John got back from work, they'd talk about it all. He still didn't know how he would tell Carter he no longer wanted to be with him. Now that he and John were, perfectly together, he found his interest in the other man gone.

John gathered his bag and headed to work. Sherlock sighed as he left; the flat felt empty with John gone but it always did these days. Now that they'd become, Sherlock swallowed down a sharp feeling of excitement and even trepidation, lovers; he thought he might hope that John would stay with him indefinitely. Forever.

Well, he'd run some tests on the substance in the bottle and do research on the stories he'd seen in Carter's book. He remembered most of them, but he'd flipped through pretty fast the previous night. He hoped there would be enough to make some connections.

The substance turned out to be Valium. One or two pills, he guessed. Sherlock wondered who would have wanted to drug Trisha when a thought occurred to him. Perhaps Trisha wasn't the target? Perhaps the drug was meant for John? Or, even himself? John had brought beer, but the ones offered to them had already been in the flat. Sherlock remembered the coldness of the beer pressed into his hand so it couldn't have been the stuff they'd brought. Theirs had not been cold. Sherlock had taken only a cursory sip of his as he despised beer. If there had been something in his drink, he would not have gotten enough in his system to do much. Then he remembered that John had taken one of the drinks from the sack he'd brought to the gathering. Even warm, the beer was the brand he preferred. So, John would not have had any chance to drink tainted beer either. John had only thought to grab Trisha's bottle. "Not enough evidence," Sherlock growled to the room. It seemed solving cases that he was directly involved in took a bit more introspection than it did when he was not involved in the case personally. Interesting.

Sherlock thought about who might have had a reason to drug the drinks. The only two possibilities were Dave and… Here Sherlock's mind stuttered a bit, Carter. Why would either of them want to drug anyone at the flat last night? There was no reason. Sherlock had certainly been willing enough to follow Carter up to his room. There would have been no reason to limit his inhibitions with narcotics.

If the alarm hadn't gone off, he might have done a great deal more than just kiss. Sherlock felt alarm rising at the thought that he might have botched things up with John for good if he'd gone through with his original plan. No, it had worked out for the best, he thought. He and John had finally allowed themselves to come together as they should have done long ago.

Sherlock rubbed a thumb over his plush bottom lip in memory of their kisses last night and smiled. He looked forward to more touching, more kissing and yes, even more talking with John. In a way, he'd had his brief interaction with Carter to thank for this new relationship with his best friend. If he was honest with himself, he'd known all along he'd wanted this with John Watson. His mind tripped over the idea that he'd almost let his transport decide what was clearly not the right choice for him.

Sherlock had a few more hours before John's return from the clinic, so he set about researching the cases from Carter's book. Before he'd even begun, he heard a ring at the bell.

"Mrs. Hudson," he shouted down the stairs. "Get the door."

The bell rang again. "Damn," he muttered. She'd gone out.

Sherlock put the laptop down and drew his dressing gown around himself. He'd managed to put on trousers and a shirt but no shoes or socks. He huffed his way down the stairs to answer the door.

When he opened it, Ian stood on the threshold. "Hello, Mate," he said with a grin.

"Ian," Sherlock said showing his obvious surprise that the firefighter had called on him. "This is unexpected."

Sherlock suddenly felt uneasy. The man on his doorstep stood over six feet tall, had a very well-developed physique, and an entirely too wide grin.

"Came by to see Cart and thought I'd pop in to see if you two got home all right, he looked over Sherlock's shoulder. "John in?"

Ian's question unsettled Sherlock. "John's out right now but will be back shortly." He responded curtly.

"Ah, well it's mostly you I wanted to see," Ian said. "Mind if I come in for a cup of tea?" He asked disarmingly.

"I'm working on a case," Sherlock said feeling his unease growing.

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the screen. It was a text from John.

I'm on lunch. Any news on the contents of the bottle?

Sherlock looked up at Ian. "Text from Scotland Yard. Case," he lied.

He busied himself texting back:

The bottle contained Valium. Ian's visiting Baker St. I'm not sure why. SH

"They will be expecting me at the Yard in a few minutes," he said pointedly.

"Well, I won't keep ya," Ian said smoothly and leaned his tall frame in the doorway. "Trisha got home all right?"

"Yes, she did. But, you could always give her a call and ask her," Sherlock responded archly.

"Yeah, I could. Only she's not answering her phone. I dropped by her place, and she's not at home either," he said.

Sherlock knitted his brows at this. "We got her inside and she said she'd get herself to bed."

"Well, I guess that's good then. She'll turn up soon I expect," Ian said and looked down at Sherlock's bare feet. "Carter's working next door," he said with a tilt of his head. "Just got on shift. I expect you'll want to pop in for a muffin?" he said with a sly wink.

Sherlock had been trying to avoid the idea that he'd eventually have to break up with Carter. He cringed inwardly at the dialogue he knew awaited him. Having an "ex" work so close to his flat might become problematic.

"I'll do that," Sherlock said. He really wanted this conversation to be over. But Ian had something else to say. "Carter is very special to us. He's kind of our little brother, and we look out for him, yeah? You can understand that."

"You're worried I'll mistreat him?" Sherlock asked narrowing his eyes. This was an unexpected direction in the conversation, especially considering he wanted to break up with him.

"Well, you can't be too careful these days," Ian said drawing himself up to his full height. Then Sherlock took another look at the man. Deducing him. Ian's eyes were narrowed, jaw tense, shoulder's back almost in a fighting stance. This man's aggression was written plainly for him to see.

"I will always treat Carter with the respect he deserves," Sherlock said evenly. "He's a remarkable young man and I would never do anything to cause him discomfort if I could help it."

"Good to know," Ian said and grinned wider in a predatory, teeth baring gesture.

Sherlock's phone pinged with an incoming text. He looked down and read:

You okay? Do I need to call Lestrade?

Yes, fine. Trisha's missing. Ian says she isn't answering her phone or her doorbell. SH

Is Ian inside the flat?

No, on the front doorstep. I won't let him in. SW

Good. Don't. I've got a cancellation this afternoon. I'll be home in an hour. Call Lestrade if you need to.

Ian had hung around during this exchange looking on. Sherlock suddenly had a third suspect in the drink drugging scenario. Ian could have drugged the beer before he left to get the pizza last night. He said he hadn't been there to see what she had taken, but that didn't mean he hadn't spiked the drink before he'd left.

Sherlock now felt a thin thread of fear run through for Trisha's safety. He might give Lestrade a call after he got rid of this lug.

"Your new case, is it a murder?" Ian asked licking his lips.

"I'm afraid I can't say," Sherlock said and began closing the door on Ian. "I really must be going."

Ian's foot shot out and prevented him from closing the door all the way. "See you around, Sherlock Holmes," he said in a low voice. He withdrew his foot and turned to go. He gave a short wave as he passed in front of Speedy's Cafe. Sherlock couldn't tell if he were waving to him or someone inside. He shut the door and retreated into the safety of 221b.


	13. Chapter 13

Sherlock decided to wait for John to come home before he confronted Carter about their future together. He'd searched his feelings and found he had only one real regret about seeing Carter again. Ian had brought up the only stumbling point in Sherlock's mind. Carter might have formed an emotional attachment to him. What if he were only minutes away from breaking the boy's heart? He'd had his feelings hurt as a young man. One of his first trysts had been with a classmate he'd developed a crush on. They'd communicated their mutual attraction secretively and covertly for many months before finally allowing themselves a few stumbling sexual encounters.

During one of their encounters, they'd been caught kissing by two girls who'd giggled and pointed at them. After that, the boy had grown distant and finally asked Sherlock not to talk to him anymore. He'd been crushed by the rejection, so he knew how it felt. Sherlock's interest in the fireman had barely scratched the surface of lust and physical attraction. But, he'd just tell Carter the truth and hope that he hadn't solidified real feelings for him yet.

Trisha's whereabouts galled at him. He didn't have her number, and he didn't want to ask Carter for it as he wasn't ready to confront him just yet. He texted Lestrade and asked him to send a patrol officer to her flat to check up on her. The man owed him at least that favor after he'd solved the skateboarding crime for him last week.

Lestrade agreed to check on the girl and report back to him within the hour. Sherlock had used the time before John returned to look up the stories he'd remembered in Carter's book. Most of the first stories were about European serial killers. It seemed Frank had liked the more gruesome killers who dealt in bulk or inventiveness. Sherlock's cab driver, suicide killer had been in the book along with four other's he'd worked on over the years. But, the most recent stories had simply been about other types of cases. The focus of the book had changed from the killers and crimes to focusing on Sherlock's detective work catching criminals.

If this had been Frank's obsession, might he have involved Carter in it somehow? It didn't make sense.

Sherlock heard the lock turn downstairs and John's footsteps as he made his way upstairs.

"Sherlock!" John called.

There was an edge to his voice that betrayed a little fear. John had been worried. He'd come home from work early to check up on him, and that only stoked the glow he'd gotten earlier when John had touched his cheek and told him that they'd be discussing their relationship upon his return.

John bounded into the front room a little out of breath. "I got here as quick as I could," he said.

"I was in no immediate danger, John. But, thank you," Sherlock said putting the laptop down and moving over to his flat mate. "I appreciate your concern."

And, Sherlock found he really did appreciate it. John's flushed cheeks betrayed how fast he'd moved to get back to Baker Street as quickly as possible.

"Have you found out anything else?" John asked. "Trisha?"

"Lestrade sent a man over to check on her. She still isn't answering her door and without probable cause, he can't do more than that."

John nodded. "Good, I'm glad you contacted Lestrade. At least he'll be in the loop." John moved to stand next to Sherlock. He seemed a bit uncomfortable for a moment until he moved in and encircled his arms around Sherlock for a hug.

Sherlock stood still for a moment before he wrapped his arms around John and offered a returning squeeze. He had no idea if this was a "hugging" moment, but he found himself relaxing into the embrace and liking the feeling very much.

"I'm glad you didn't let him in, Sherlock," John said. "I don't like this situation at all. Perhaps this is how it's done today, but something about this whole situation has seemed off since last night."

They broke apart. "I've got to break up with Carter," Sherlock announced suddenly.

"Ah, yes," John said running a hand through his short, sandy hair. "I've been thinking about that today too."

Sherlock sat back in his chair and put his head in his hands. "I'm afraid he'll take it badly," he said through his fingers.

John kneeled at Sherlock's feet and said, "I know this is a difficult thing. What do you want to do?"

"I engaged him in this relationship," Sherlock began. "I should be direct about my changed status and tell him."

"Are you over Carter?" John asked.

Sherlock looked down at his knees. "I know this sounds "a bit not good" but I wanted to know what it would be like to have a boyfriend. I wanted someone who would be there physically and even emotionally. I thought if I liked the looks of someone, the rest would follow. I will admit I did find him attractive."

John raised one eyebrow. "I don't think I've ever been more surprised that day at the park. It took every ounce of my self-control not to throw him to the ground and punch him until he confessed everything you two had been doing."

Sherlock smiled at that. John had been jealous.

"I'm sure my stomach nearly came through my mouth when I saw you walking toward us. I felt as if I'd been caught stealing money from the collection plate. The worst combination of guilt and a horrible pride ran through me. I wanted to show you I could be romantic with someone. I've often thought you believed me incapable of it."

"I've never believed that, Sherlock. You're one of the most caring people I've ever met. I know I've spent a lot of time agonizing over women and for that I'm sorry. I've been searching for someone I could spend my life with. All I had to do was open my eyes, and I'd have seen you there. What do you think our status is?" John asked quietly.

Sherlock turned his head searching John's face for clues as to what to say. "I love you, John. I have loved you for so long, and I want to be together. I've wanted this," here he took John's hand and kissed it," for longer than even I knew. Now that we've… Now that we've admitted it to each other, I want to keep admitting it. I want to be like we were last night for as long as we can."

"I love you too, Sherlock," John said gripping his hand back and letting out a happy laugh. "I'm pretty sure we've been in a relationship for a while now. We've just gone to the next level, as they say."

"Really, John?" Sherlock said rolling his eyes. "The next level?"

"Yes, you Berk," he said pulling the detective in for a kiss. "I'll be happy to level up with you any day."

"So are we…?" Sherlock prompted.

"Together," John said. "Boyfriends, in a committed relationship, yes. And, no more dating for either of us!"

"Hmmm. I like the sound of that Watson," Sherlock growled and kissed him again.

They broke apart a few moments later. "I've got to go next door. I can't put this off any longer," Sherlock said sadly.

"You want me to go with you?" John asked.

Sherlock did. He wanted to hold John's hand and use his incredible strength as he broke the news to Carter, but he knew that would not be kind. "No, I'll go speak to him. The café closes at 2:00 today. It's nearly that. Carter wasn't supposed to work today, so I'm surprised he's there. They must have got the fire under control."

John nodded. "I'll be right here. Text me if things get out of control."

Sherlock's eyebrows raised. "I will."


	14. Chapter 14

Sherlock stepped into Speedy's café a little before 2:00. The chairs had already been put up on the tables, and a trim figure in an apron holding a broom had his back to him. Carter called over his shoulder, "We're closing, sorry!"

Sherlock stood still with his hands behind his back and waited. He'd donned his Belstaff and scarf before leaving the flat in order to give himself one more layer of protection. Carter straightened his back and finally turned around. He beamed in welcome causing Sherlock's stomach to plummet to the ground.

"Sherlock," he said putting the broom down and crossing the distance to the front of the café. Sherlock thought he might have to endure a welcome hug and braced himself for it. But Carter bypassed him and said, "Hang on."

He moved over to the door and locked it. He turned the "open" sign over to "closed."

"Now we won't be disturbed," he said conspiratorially.

The bolt hit home with a finality Sherlock did not like. He observed the deserted café and noted the utter stillness of the place. "Jenny not here?" he asked trying to keep his voice neutral.

"No, Jenny called in sick this morning. She asked me to fill in for her."

"Did she?" Sherlock asked.

"I texted you," Carter said.

"I know," Sherlock began. He had received three texts from Carter. The first had been "Good morning, Handsome." The second had been, "I got one raging fire under control, but last night's slow burn might just set off another." And finally, "I guess you're on a case. Stop by the shop. I'm on shift today till 2:00." Sherlock hadn't responded to any of them. Perhaps he'd sent Ian by to see why.

"That was considerate of you, especially since you were out all night," Sherlock said. They were a few feet apart, and Sherlock felt it important to keep the buffer of space between them. He didn't want to give Carter any reason to believe they might still have a chance at intimacy, but something else told him to keep his distance.

Carter sensed his hesitancy and his smile faltered. "You okay?" he asked.

Here it was, Sherlock thought. The point where he said, "No I'm not. We can't see each other anymore."

Carter's stunned look told him he'd said it out loud.

"What?" said moving toward Sherlock both hands up in a supplicating gesture. The detective felt an instinctive need to take a step back. Keep his distance.

"My circumstances have changed," Sherlock began. "While I've enjoyed the time I've spent with you, I can't in good conscience continue our relationship."

"What do you mean, _In good conscience_?" Carter asked his voice taking on a sharper edge.

Sherlock wondered if this is what John meant by the phrase out of control. He dropped his eyes not wanting to look at the mixture of hurt and anger on Carter's face. His hand dropped into his coat pocket, and he felt his phone. He'd learned the art of pocket dialing during his many flirtations with danger while working on his cases. He'd often had to text or call for help away from prying eyes. He speed dialed John's phone and texted the words "not going well." He'd let this play out a bit longer, but he already felt overwhelmed by the intensity of Carter's emotions.

"I-I mean I've developed feelings for someone else," Sherlock tried again. In the world he inhabited, he had no experience with this. His protective shield had helped him to navigate the world of sex and romance without ever having had to endure this. He'd always been the one dumped. And as painful as that had been, this was worse.

Carter's lip trembled. "You're breaking up with me? For who?"

One tear coursed down his cheek, and Sherlock felt his guts slide again. He'd really liked Carter. Now he was the one causing this pain, and he didn't like hole it left in him.

"John and I," Sherlock tried.

"Dr. Watson?" Carter asked incredulously "He is straight. He's never going to want you. I can give you what you want. What you need," he said trying to step closer again, but Sherlock took another step back.

"I need John," Sherlock pressed on. "I thought I needed what you offered to me, but we've worked out what we want and I want to be with John."

In a flash, Carter's face changed. His hurt and anguish replaced with a vicious fire, "You were supposed to like me," Carter spat out angrily. "I changed everything for you! We researched all about you. We read all your articles. We poured over Dr. Watson's blog for clues even a blind man could see. I joined the fucking volunteer fire department because Frank said it would turn you on. I even dyed my hair!"

"What?" Sherlock said. He felt very much out of his depth now. What had just happened?

"What Frank didn't tell me was how goddam sexy you'd turn out to be," he stepped into Sherlock's space and pulled him close by the lapels of his coat. "I was designed just for you. You still want me. I know it."

He could feel Carter's hot breath on his neck and his only thought was, "No I don't." He gripped the hands holding onto his coat and pulled them off.

"Aww Cart, honey, don't take on so," said a new voice behind him. Sherlock spun around in time to see Ian standing at the rear of the café. "We knew he had a thing for the Doc, didn't we?"

At Ian's appearance, Carter stepped away from Sherlock and nodded glumly. "Yeah, Frank we did."

"Frank?" Sherlock asked. His confusion lasted only a second as he put the pieces of the puzzle together. You're Frank. You pretended to be a third roommate? You've got the obsession with serial killers and now…me."

"Got it in one go. But then we knew you would," Frank/Ian said.

"So you were….bait?" Sherlock turned to face Carter whose expression had changed to one of resignation now.

"That's how it started, Sherlock," Carter said and wiped away the tear that had fallen. "Frank convinced me it needed to be done."

Sherlock saw the glimmer of it all now. Ian/Frank had been Carter's boyfriend. He'd grown obsessed with his subject matter, serial killers, until he hit a wall in the form of one Sherlock Holmes. His obsession had changed. Then, he'd begun collecting articles and stories about him creating a kind of memorial to his work in the scrapbook.

He slipped his hand into his pocket and quickly sent of a text to Lestrad **.**

 **In danger, inside Speedy's. John in trouble in the flat. SW**

Then, he openly pulled his phone out of his pocket. Whatever these two had planned for him now, John needed to be here to help him. He started dialing John's number.

"It's no use Sherlock," Frank said. "I visited your flat just after you left. You've got a habit of leaving the window next to the kitchen open at the top, you know. Dr. Watson won't be joining us today."

"What did you do to him?"

"Sherlock, it's for the best. We didn't want Dr. Watson to interfere with our plans for you," Carter said as if speaking to a child.

Sherlock lunged forward to grab the front of Carter's shirt. He'd get the information out of him if he had to shake him until his teeth fell out. But Carter used the broom he was holding as a weapon and swung around in a sharp blow. Sherlock barely managed to bring up his arm to shield his head.

"You can both stop now," Frank commanded, and Sherlock turned to see him holding a gun in one hand.

"Hand your phone over," Carter demanded and took his phone from him.

Sherlock moaned in frustration. "What have you done to John?" he shouted to the room.

"I'll tell you if you cooperate. If you're a good boy, I'll even let you see him just before you die," Frank said with a grin. "Pull the metal door down for us will you Cart. There's a good chap."

Carter turned to obey, and Sherlock saw the open grin of a child who'd just been given a new toy he'd been dying to play with.

"Lemmie see your hands, Sherlock," Frank said. "Keep them up."

To think he'd felt sorry for Carter's pain moments ago. Now he felt torn between ripping his head from his shoulders to doing exactly what Ian wanted in case he meant what he said about seeing John.

"It isn't part of the plan to kill your Doctor, Sherlock. We need him alive to take the fall for your murder, oh and Trisha's murder too. We've got him incapacitated upstairs. I've given him a little something to help him sleep until we need him." Ian pulled an empty syringe from his pocket with his free hand and laughed.

"He's quite the little solider your John. Fought me the whole way and put up one hell of a fight. I just happened to get the drop on him first." Ian giggled a little at the memory. "I will admit we had to move up the timeline a bit when Trisha spilled the beans and let you see my book. Stupid cow. She and Dave were just window dressing to make us seem more normal. We had to let them in on our plan a bit, but they didn't know the whole picture. But, she got nosey, and I had to take her out before she could do any more damage. That just made the choice of who my first victim would be much easier."

"Is she dead?" Sherlock asked feeling a lead weight sink deeper into his chest.

"Not just yet, Detective. Dr. Watson hasn't killed her yet. You see, we need the blood spray pattern to be perfect, and we can't do that after the fact. Forensic evidence is just too good these days," Frank said.

Carter returned from his task of closing the metal doors outside the shop. "Did you bring her here, Frank?" he asked excitement edging his voice.

"Yeah, I've got a lorry out back, and this place has a very handy loading dock. Makes it easy to get things in and out," Frank said.

"Plan B seems to be working all right, then?" Carter said and grinned.

"Isn't he delicious? I found him in the library of all places. I'm not actually a firefighter. I'm a researcher. But, Carter's got a very keen interest in serial killers as well. We made quite a pair the two of us. We both studied the famous killers, found fascination in their inventiveness, and couldn't wait until another one made the papers so we could follow along. We were perfectly content in our little hobby until you came along."

"More than that," Carter said sidling up to Sherlock still holding the broom in an aggressive way. He felt confident now that his lover held a gun to Sherlock, and it made him bold. "We got off on it. Without the killings, we couldn't seem to find the same joy in sex. Each time there was a murder, we found out every detail we could and reveled in it."

"Then, you came along, Detective," Frank said.

"I stopped them," Sherlock said understanding flooding through him. "I've ended at least four sprees in the past two years. You must have thought me quite the buzzkill."

"On the contrary, Sherlock," Carter said. "I begged Frank to let me play with you a little longer. I wanted to make you fall for me. I have to admit, when Frank approached me for the role of your boyfriend, I couldn't wait to get started. We had such plans for you. But, all the good killers get better over time. We wanted to make the serial killer hall of fame! With you out there, we'd never have made it past our first few kills. After we take you out of the picture, we'll have a wide open playing field."

"I admit you will gain a certain notoriety in killing me. But why frame John?"

"We don't want to take credit for killing you. It's our modus operandi," Frank said shaking his head. "You're supposed to be clever. We'll kill our victims and frame them on an innocent person. Just think, each time we kill, we'll find a convenient patsy to pin it on, the police will spend all their time investigating the wrong person. It's perfect."

"Sit down, Sherlock," Carter said. "I'm going to tie you to a chair. If you even twitch, Frank will shoot you."

"Won't that mess up your plans?" Sherlock asked rolling his eyes at them both.

"Yes," Frank snarled, but you'll be dead either way. "Tie him tight, Cart."

The boy knew how to tie a knot. Sherlock thought he could get himself free, but it would take time.

"Get Trisha," Frank said after he'd tugged on Sherlock's ropes to test them.

"Yeah," Carter said almost skipping off toward the back of the café. A moment later, he brought her in. She sat in an old wheelchair. She'd been bound and gagged. She also looked drugged. Her head lolled to the side as Carter wheeled her forward.

"I will miss you, Sherlock," Carter said into Sherlock's ear as positioned her next to his chair.

Sherlock bowed his head. He didn't see a way out of this. If John were upstairs in a drugged stupor, he had no chance. They'd have to bring John downstairs in order to complete their tableau. However, if Lestrade...

A metallic click sounded in the room. It was the sound of a Browning being drawn back and to Sherlock, it might have been the sweetest sound in the world.

"Drop it," a voice commanded, and Sherlock smiled.


	15. Chapter 15

The atmosphere in the room changed quickly. Hope blossomed for a quick moment as Sherlock's head snapped up to see Lestrade holding a gun out in front of him and shouted, "Police! I said drop it lads, or I will shoot the both of you."

Carter's face fell into another snarl of frustration. Sherlock knew what would happen a second before it did and lurched himself sharply to the left in his chair. Carter lunged forward toward Lestrade's aimed weapon, and Sherlock heard two shots fire out simultaneously. One came from Lestrade's police issue Browning, while the second came from Frank's pistol. Sherlock felt the bullet graze his right bicep in a bee sting punch, but he'd managed to evade getting a bullet through his chest.

Lestrade let out a sharp howl of surprise as he saw Sherlock go down turned and fired another two shots into Frank's back.

Sherlock drew up his knees to provide himself one small layer of protection from Frank's weapon should he fire off another shot in his dying agonies. But, Frank sank to his knees, eyes wide and fell forward onto his face. Carter cradled his shoulder as blood seeped through his fingers. He'd been shot in the lung and had stumbled forward only to have Lestrade catch him before he hit too the floor.

Sherlock used his prone position to break apart the chair and free himself from his bonds. Finally, he pulled off the ropes and went to check on Frank. He kicked the gun away from his hand just in case and reached down to feel his neck.

"He's got no pulse," Sherlock announced.

Together they got Carter onto his back and Lestrade said "I've got medics on their way. You'll be alright. Just hang in there."

Sherlock had no idea how Lestrade had the ability to care what happened to such men after he'd witnessed what they had tried to do. If Sherlock had been alone with these men and a gun, he might just have let Carter bleed out.

"Are you alright here? I need to go home," Sherlock said feeling an urgent need to see John.

"I checked upstairs first," Lestrade said. "Found John out cold and called for an ambulance. His pulse is strong and steady. I called for backup but thought I'd better get down here and see what was going on down here. Good thing too, he looked right ready to…"

"I'll just go make sure," Sherlock said and ran out the back door. He heard sirens as he bound up the seventeen steps to the flat.

Four hours later, John woke up from his drug induced stupor in a hospital bed. Sherlock had sat by his side the entire time, sometimes holding the doctor's hand and other times pacing the room. He'd been hooked up to monitors and given some medicine to counteract the extreme sedatives he'd been given

"Hello," John said in a whisper.

John's blue eyes had never looked more beautiful to Sherlock than at that moment.

Sherlock drew up a chair next to the bed and grabbed John's hand. "Thank God you're awake. The doctor was afraid you'd been given an overdose. Thought you might have been put into a coma."

"That's what happens when you muck about with dangerous sedatives you know nothing about, then?" John said and smiled. "Frankly, those were terrible criminals."

Sherlock huffed out a laugh despite the overwhelming worry he still felt at seeing John laid out on that hospital bed. "Yes, really amateur at best. Frank is dead, and Carter is in ICU fighting for his life."

"Lestrade?" John asked putting a weakly to his chest. The sight of it hurt something profound in Sherlock.

"Yes. Lestrade saved us both. Must send him a card of thanks," Sherlock said placing one warm hand over John's smaller one. "You rest. It's all been taken care of. You just rest."

"I'm okay, Sherlock," John said patting the detective's hand reassuringly. I woke up. That's a good thing. I'm still feeling a bit dizzy and nauseous, but I'll be okay. And, I think you DI Lestrade a pint or two at least."

"For rescuing you, I'd give him anything he wanted," Sherlock said looking warmly down at his doctor.

"I'll have to remember that," Lestrade said poking his head into the room. "Just stopped by to see how you're recovering, mate."

Sherlock's face pinked, but he didn't let go of John's hand. He turned around and grinned at the DI. "You saved us both. Thank you."

Lestrade's jaw dropped in surprise, and John giggled. "You're bloody welcome, Sherlock. John, I'll let you rest," he said and left.

"I think you're going to have to solve at least half a dozen really boring, mundane cases," he said and sobered at seeing Sherlock's face.

"John," Sherlock began. "I can't tell you how sorry I am that I got you involved in this."

"No, Sherlock. This was not your fault. You only sought out a little human contact. You have every right to seek that out from whoever you wish. I just hope this doesn't put you off trusting in other people."

"I trust you, John. I trust in you and hope you know that I'm yours for as long as you'll have me."

"Of course I want you and I'm yours. I don't know what I'd do without you," John said trying to sit up.

Sherlock placed both hands on John's shoulders and said, "No, you lie down. Now that we've found each other, finally, I'm not going anywhere. And, either are you."

"So, you going to tell me about it then?" John asked setting back into this bed.

Sherlock recounted everything and John's eyes widened when Sherlock told him Frank's plans to have John murder them both while under the influence of the drugs. He swallowed thickly and said, "If I'd have woken up to find you dead and me covered in your blood…"

Sherlock said quickly, "Shhh, I should have waited to tell you that." He stooped over and gathered John into his arms as best he could and hugged him. "I'm fine. And we have friends to help us, John. Together we can fight anything that comes our way."

John relaxed into Sherlock's embrace. "You've got that right," John said.

Sherlock agreed and felt everything shift into place. Even though they'd just survived another harrowing adventure, his life felt perfectly right for the first time in his life.


End file.
